


When we became us

by hopelessly_me



Category: Marvel
Genre: Assassin Clint Barton, Assassin Natasha Romanov, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Near Death Experience, Poison, Pre-Avengers (2012), dismantling the red room, implied rape, joined S.H.I.E.L.D.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-01-26 12:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 42,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessly_me/pseuds/hopelessly_me
Summary: Clint Barton had a past before he joined S.H.I.E.L.D., a past that included close encounters with the infamous Black Widow.With S.H.I.E.L.D. closing in on him from one direction and whispers of the mysterious Red Room coming from the other, Clint felt forced to track down the Black Widow for an unsteady truce.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 45
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

Clint ignored the downpour, walking down the street and keeping his head level. People were dodging him as they ran for cover, some laughing as they passed; some walked by slower, taking cover under their umbrellas. None of that really mattered to Clint- it was just water. Clint stopped when he got in front of a building with bright neon signs and checked the address. He tapped the card against his leg then walked in.

The atmosphere was exactly what you would expect from a dive bar. It was a little dirty, the people a bit rougher, everything loud. Clint hated loud- it was harder to focus and harder yet to hear someone coming up behind you.

“Going to need to see some ID,” the bartender said the instant Clint sat down, his accent thick.

“Yeah yeah,” Clint replied, holding out his ID. “Twenty-four,” he muttered. Which was a goddamn lie- he was only twenty-one, but he had been using this fake ID for awhile now. Nate Smith- so boring, so generic. “Kronenbourg, thank you.” He paid up front, which may have been a little out of style but it was easier than trying to leave the bar in a hurry and still having a tab open. Annoyed the piss outta bartenders though.

Clint looked around the bar, thumbing at his drink. He wasn’t exactly fluent in French, but he knew more than enough to get by. Especially when it came to listening into people’s conversations to see what they were saying. He picked up a few times about ‘dumb American’... which was fair he supposed. Clint would never brag about being smart.

“_He looks like an easy one to take- fetch a good price._” Bingo- that was exactly who he was listening in for. Clint didn’t react in any way. He casually looked around the bar before he locked eyes on the man who had made the comment, giving him a brief smile. Clint left the bar and went to grab a few darts, setting his beer down so he could throw a few.

“And whats an American boy like you doing here?” the man asked.

“Just trying to find a good time,” Clint replied. He turned his body slightly and rose an eyebrow. “Last day in France- figured I’d try a local bar. Everywhere else seemed kinda boring.” He glanced down at his beer, noticed it had moved just a hair.

The look was almost predatory and Clint had to bite back his anger at it. “Boring?” the man asked. “You want to see a good time?”

“Not sure you can keep up,” Clint answered cockily. “Got a son or daughter?” he asked.

Now the look darkened to exactly what Clint was expecting. “Come with me.”

Clint abandoned his beer and settled the darts down The man was already heading towards the back. Clint wasn’t a huge fan of back alley hookups but why the hell not? What could go wrong? 

Clint followed the man out then felt the man’s hands on him, pushing him back roughly against the wall. It was a messy and rough kiss, definitely not within the top ten. Clint groaned and leaned into it; hands were working under his shirt.

“Holy shit,” the man wheezed.

“Not expecting so many muscles?” Clint asked before he bit the man’s lip, giving it a tug.

That was more of an invitation for the man. His hands dropped back down, dropping into Clint’s pants. Clint rocked his hips forward. Clint pushed the man back, stepping with him, wanting to take more control. The man protested for a moment before Clint reached down, eliciting a moan.

There was a car backfire, the man looking down the alley. Clint sighed and reached back, pulling a pill from his pocket. He waited until the man looked before he slammed his hip into him, pressing close and forcing the pill into his mouth. Clint used one hand to pinch the man’s nose, the other covering his mouth. He angled his head back and away to avoid hands.

“Swallow,” Clint said in a bored tone. _Thank god for long sleeves because this fucker has nails_ he thought. That would have been bad. “Swallow. I’ve got all night.” It didn’t take too long but Clint held out, making sure. Even if the man hadn’t swallowed, by now it should have dissolved just enough to become worrisome.

“Good boy.” Clint dropped his hand holding his nose. “So… you answer my questions… you live. But you have approximately fifteen minutes to make it to a hospital so let’s focus and make this snappy. You attempt to scream, I'll make sure you die in this back alley. We clear?”

The man nodded enthusiastically and Clint dropped his hand. “Please, I have-”

“Sh, sh, it’s okay,” Clint hushed. “Claudia Monte. Go.”

“I have children-”

“I have a gun,” Clint quipped. The man flinched back, eyes wider than before. “Claudia Monte.”

“Whatever you want, whoever paid you-”

“Tick tock- local hospital is a ten minute ride- you may even pass out in six,” Clint reminded calmly. “Claudia Monte.”

“She knew too much,” the man finally said. “She knew too much, she was going to tell S.H.I.E.L.D., fuck us all over. She needed taken out.”

“She was a mother of three,” Clint pointed out. “Just like you are a father to two.”

“We can pay you more,” the man said. “Is it S.H.I.E.L.D.? Defect and we can work out a deal.”

Clint tilted his head to the side. “You want me to abandon S.H.I.E.L.D. to work for… you?”

“For HYDRA, yes,” the man said.

Clint wanted to swear- he hadn’t been told this particular bit of information when he agreed to the hit. Clint had _rules_, and avoiding S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, and AIM were all top three spots of that list, no particular order. He was just told the man killed Claudia, not why. And Clint- he just wanted to make sure he was tracking and killing the right guy. Now this was a game changer that Clint didn’t know how to deal with.

“Huh- that’s news,” Clint said. He dropped his hands and took a step back. “You can go.”

“I can… go?” the man asked hesitantly.

“Yeah- just needed confirmation. Go on. Down the alley,” Clint said, leaning against the door.

Clint almost felt bad… _almost_. The man took two steps back before he turned and ran. Clint leaned down and slid out his bow and a single arrow. He took a deep breath, lined up- the sound of the man hitting the ground was satisfying. Clint strolled down the alley and knelt down, putting a knee on the man’s back, giving a swift tug to dislodge the arrow from the back of his neck. He waited until the man stilled, waited more, then got up and walked back down the alley, grabbing a bag to shove his bow and arrow in. He ruffled his hair before he turned a corner, disappearing into the crowds.

Clint pulled out a pill from his pocket and tossed it in the air, catching it on his tongue before he swallowed it. Who knew caffeine pills could be so handy?

\-----

Clint lost count on what shower number he was on- he was pretty sure this was the fourth. He scrubbed his body again and ducked his head under the water. He was tired but he couldn’t sleep- when he tried, all he saw was the man’s pleading eyes. As much as the guy deserved to die, Clint still didn’t enjoy it.

Clint didn’t like who he had become. He could still remember being seven, parents dead and thinking his life would actually get better. He wanted to be a pilot, an astronaut, maybe even a policeman. Even when he was bounced around from one foster home to another, one orphanage to another, Clint still thought he had hope. When him and Barney ran away and joined the circus he held onto hope. He thought he could make something of himself. Sure, his hearing was shit, but he had his eyes and they were sharp.

And then he had to fuck it all up. He was sixteen when he found out what the circus was doing; a front of organized crime. Before Clint could do anything drastic, they tried to take him out, left him for dead. When found alive, he had a series of crimes falsely pegged against him. He spent two years in juvie- released at eighteen with nothing. He was angry, but he kept it under the surface as much as he could. 

And now? Now he was in France, taking on jobs as they came. Threaten people? Sure. Take back stolen goods? Why not. Take down people who the government didn’t seem to want to fuck with? Hell yeah- where do you sign up? He was labeled as a ‘bad guy’ back home, so why not show them exactly how bad he could be? That is if they could catch him.

He got out of the shower and toweled off. He looked at the three scars on his stomach, the constant reminder of the last betrayal, and he knew he had something worth fighting for. Because when he finally made it back stateside, when he felt he was ready- he was going to take on the people who left him for dead. He’d pick them up, one by one, hoping to build the fear. He wasn’t flashy but he liked the dramatics behind it. It was fitting.

Clint padded out to the main living quarters of his hotel room, toweling off his hair still. He grabbed a pair of sweats and tugged them over his hips. Tomorrow he was taking the train to Amsterdam. He’d try to find a new job there- maybe take a week or two to let the dust settle first. He flopped down on the bed and put a hand over his eyes. And then he saw the eyes again and groaned.

“Fuck,” Clint breathed. 

He rolled onto his stomach and pulled out his blue bag, unzipping it. He pulled out his bow and ran his fingers over the smooth portions, feeling himself calming almost instantly. He rolled back to his back and pulled on the tension string, running his wrapped thumb along the string. It was old school- paleolithic as all get out, but the muscle memory involved was what drew him in. And there was some poetic justice somewhere in there when he could finally kill the guy who trained him on how to shoot the damn thing. At least that's what he hoped- if not, this whole becoming an assassin business was pretty much all for nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint wasn’t exactly as stupid as most people thought he was. He was pretty sure it was from having that midwestern drawl, maybe the lopsided, charming but goofy grin, but people always thought he was dumbed than a box of rocks. And that was fine- Clint liked having the upperhand on people. He played that card close, guarded it like it was his only lifeline in case everything went to hell in that metaphorical hand basket. 

Despite being somewhat smart, he could not for the life of him remember to pronounce _pelas_ correctly, mixing it up with _pelos_, and it was becoming increasingly embarrassing and frustrating. He had learned French first- he didn’t know why, but it seemed like a good way to go about this whole learn a language thing. Now he was on Spanish, could see the similarities between the languages, but that didn’t make it any easier. His favorite part was remembering what word he wanted in English, and in French, but Spanish? Nope, not there.

His hearing alone didn’t make it any easier, especially when he could only listen to the words being spoken when he was in his hotel room. On mass transit he’d have to remove a hearing aid, and with skyrocket prices for overseas insurance coverage and his tendency to lose the damn things, there was no chance of listen to Spanish over the course of the next four hours. 

Clint claimed a window seat in the back, not wanting his back exposed as much as possible. He knew the likelihood of being attacked while in public was slim at best- no one really liked to draw a crowd; however, that didn’t mean Clint wanted to risk it. He had put his first bag in the overhead and settled his other bag between his legs, his feet resting on either side. He had his Spanish book set out, a pad of paper, and a pen; he hid his phone so he didn’t get distracted.

Clint flinched when a bag dropped on the seat next to him and he glanced up through his eyelashes. A woman was putting her bag up, stretching and on her tiptoes to shove it back, muttering curses under her breath. She got the first one up then dropped back to her feet, blowing her long brown hair out of her face.

“Need some help?” Clint asked. “Erm…” he said slowly, trying again in French.

“I know English,” the woman said, something weird in her accent. “But… please?”

“Sure,” Clint said. 

Something was telling him to play this carefully- something was off, different, and he hadn’t pegged it yet. Clint stood up and moved to the side, grabbing her bag. It was a lot heavier than he had expected, which only raised his concern. She looked… smaller. He watched the woman slowly shuffle by and he glanced down at his bag, which was thankfully closed. He made quick work of the bag before he slipped next to her, leaving barely a gap.

“Thank you,” she said, slipping by him, a hand trailing on his chest as she passed. The touch was feather light, slowly, tantalizing. Clint made a mental note to move his wallet and any ID away from her. “Amsterdam?”

“Amsterdam,” Clint agreed. He pulled out his wallet and held out the ticket, smiling proudly. “You from around here?”

“Hallstatt,” she replied, sitting down. “I’m on holiday.”

“Austria, nice, I haven’t been around there yet,” Clint replied, sitting. “America. I’m backpacking Europe. Figured I may as well do it on my parents dime before I have to get a big boy job.”

The laugh was rich but fake, forced. She made a comment about rich parents and Clint let it slide; he was becoming too suspicious to relax into the conversation. He smiled as pleasantly as he could before he looked away at his book.

“You are learning Spanish.”

Clint looked up at the woman who stared at him curiously. “Yeah- yeah, I thought it would be a good language for when I head back,” Clint answered. “Spanish population growing and all.”

“When are you heading home?”

“Dunno yet,” Clint replied.

“Do your parents not-”

“I’m sorry but I’m really trying to concentrate here,” Clint said firmly. The woman pulled back and stared. Clint gave her a weak smile. “No offense, you seem nice and all. But I’m not good at small talk.” Which was a damn lie- Clint could small talk anyone’s pants off. But the woman was putting him more and more on edge.

“It’s okay, I understand,” she said, turning away.

Clint was thankful that she pulled open her own book and he looked back to his. He clicked his tongue twice before he halfway got back into his studying, writing down the words, committing them to memory. Then he would do the sentences, translate paragraphs. Anything that he could find to help.

It was about an hour into the trip that a man walked by. He was clearly his thirties, maybe on the mid to later side of that age, his hairline slowly receding and this relaxing smile. He said something to the woman who looked up before she stood. Clint only looked out of the corner of his eye at them and that’s when he noticed it. The same watches. Which shouldn’t have been abnormal but it was. Same make, same model, same color. Clint looked away quickly.

Whoever they were, he was caught. He didn’t know the extent of the “caught” level yet, but someone was trailing him. Clint didn’t know what to do about that, especially in a public setting. Last time he got caught by someone he was able to lure them somewhere loud, somewhere a little grimey and the struggle had left his ribs bruised but the guy dead. But that had been one guy, not two… whatever these people were.

The woman sat back down and Clint weighed his options. He could pretend he didn’t see anything, see how long he can play up his dumb card. Or… he could confront her and get it done with. See what he was working again. Since the man he just took down was from HYDRA, and their damn slogan was “when one head is cut, two more sprout” or whatever bullshit- he was thinking this was pretty bad odds.

“Friend?” Clint asked absentmindedly.

“Acquaintance,” the woman replied as she picked up her book. And there is was- the flaw. Her accent had slipped a little. “Met a few times back in our college days,” she added, her accent popping back into place.

“Good enough friends to have friendship watches?” Clint asked, leaning back in his seat. 

The woman seemed to consider her next words very carefully. “How long did it take?” she asked, dropping the accent act. Admittedly, Clint was slightly disappointed; accents were sexy as hell and if he was going to be stuck next to the lady, at least he could have had that going for him.

“Not long,” Clint answered. “You moving into the seating area instead of the aisle, getting close to my bag- that was a bit of a red flag.”

“Rookie mistake,” she agreed.

“So… going to tell me who you are?” Clint asked.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she replied. “Want to tell me what you have planned in Amsterdam?”

Clint chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. “Naw, I think I’ll pass at storytelling time,” he answered. “Whatever it is… I’m not going near you. Or Captain Khakis. I pack a punch.” The words came out a little awkward to Clint’s ears; he hadn’t learned how to mask a threat yet in a public setting because he typically didn’t need to.

The woman’s lips twitched. “Two against one,” she said softly.

Clint teetered his hand. “I’ll take my chances,” he answered. “This is going to be a very long and awkward train ride now. Couldn’t you both have waited until, I don’t know, a half hour out?” he asked. “Or, I don’t know, met in a bathroom for a quickie?”

The woman nearly choked and that was at least satisfying. “I don’t think you meant to use that word.”

“No, I totally did,” Clint answered with a lopsided grin. “I mean, you are gorgeous and all. Probably could get better than him but hell- we all have our kinks.”

“Oh? And whats yours?” the woman asked.

“Definitely not drugs,” Clint replied as a woman came by with refreshments, his eyes on the cart. “Not much on the whole mommy issue thing either. You strike me more of a bondage kink though to be fair.”

She looked shocked at the suggestion before she shrugged. “As long as it’s someone else tied up.”

“Oh look, something we have in common,” Clint laughed.

“I thought you wanted to study,” she said casually.

“Oh no, this is far more fun,” Clint answered, closing his book. He put his elbow on the table and watched her with a smile plastered on his face. “So… HYDRA?” he asked.

“Keep your voice down,” she snapped.

“Don’t think I will,” Clint answered. “Let’s try again… HYDRA?” Her face was stern, her lips forming a thin line. “No? How about… AIM?” he guessed again. She was going to start streaming, Clint could just see it. “Mhhh- too sexy, less nerdy to be AIM. So… S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Whats your game plan?” she asked, exasperated. 

“See how long it takes for you to snap,” Clint answered in a singsong voice. “I think it’ll take a lot, to be fair. But your facial expressions are enough to keep me going.”

“Who do you work for?” she asked.

“Myself, thank god,” Clint answered. “I am terrible at following orders. Listening problems.” He took out a hearing aid and waved it playfully at the woman. She looked more perplexed than anything at that moment. Clint looped the aid back in, making sure it was secure. “Shhh, don’t tell anyone,” he added with a wink.

“Are you possibly insane?” she asked.

“Always a possibility,” Clint replied. “We still have at least an hour and a half to- hey!”

What Clint wasn’t expecting was for her to get up. Clint watched her walk down the aisle and he smiled. _Maybe she’s cracking too fast. Maybe a little good cop, bad cop. Come on Captain Khakis._ Clint waited but no one seemed to come back. 

Clint took a moment to slip down in his seat, unzipping his bag and pulling a shirt out. He looked around before he stripped off his Tshirt and tuck it under the seat, replacing it with a new one. He peeked his head out and got up slowly, looking down the aisle. He couldn’t spot her. He grabbed his two bags and slumped back down.

_Guess Amsterdam is a no go._


	3. Chapter 3

Clint couldn’t get off the train quick enough. He slipped into the crowd, hoping he could at least shake the two people trailing him. He was fairly certain they were S.H.I.E.L.D., and that meant they could arrest him; he wasn’t exactly familiar with any prisons S.H.I.E.L.D. went through, but he certainly didn’t want to find out either.

Clint was fairly certain he had skirted them when he made his way through the city. He bought a map and found a cafe to sit outside of. He ordered the largest coffee they had, some fancy sandwich thing that cost way too much money, and an apple. The back of the map had tips for tourists in a variety of languages. Different laws, random facts, what you could and couldn’t do in the red light district; then the main attractions.

It seemed like Amsterdam was mostly known for bicycling, their museum, and apparently tulips. Clint sighed and circled some tourist spots, hoping to blend in for a week or two before he dove into any sort of work. He told himself two, because he knew that would likely be whittled down to one, and maybe five days max by the end. Clint hated sitting still for too long.

Then again- maybe he could only visit for pleasure before going somewhere else for work. That would be a new one- a vacation to just take one. He could take the five days to have a good time, to explore, then move on to start working again. Clint tapped his pen on the table with a small smile. That could actually work. No looking up anything besides enjoyable events. And that meant he needed to find a place for his favorite hobby of all.

Clint packed up his things and walked. He stopped to talk to some locals, trying to be charming. He just needed to figure out a good place to stay- not a rundown side of town where he would be tempted for some vigilante work, but also no where too expensive. Or, in more tourist terms.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” Clint asked. “Can I… pet your dog?” he asked with an apologetic smile.

“Yes, of course!” one of the two women said with a bright smile. “His name is Max.”

She had this big fluffy thing. Clint didn’t know what it was exactly, but looked soft and cuddly. Clint got down to it’s level and let the message thing sniff his hand before he started to pet it. Even before now, Clint loved dogs. He would always go just a little hungrier if there was a dog nearby growing up so he could give scraps to a dog. Now dogs were useful, being a good introduction to talking, plus the perk of being near a dog.

“Max, you are such a good boy,” Clint said in his dog voice- the tone lower and warm. _God, I love dogs._ “If you have a moment, can you help me?” Clint asked. “I just got to town and totally didn’t do my research. I’m looking for a place to stay. Not too expensive but definitely in a safe area.”

Clint listened as they rambled off a few places nearby. Then he talked about where he was from, where he has traveled so far (which was mostly only London and a few cities in France), and what he was planning to do in Amsterdam. When Clint admitted he didn’t really have plans, they gave him a load of ideas, plus places to eat before he left. Before Clint knew it, almost an hour had passed.

“So sorry but we have to head back to work,” one of the women said.

“No, no, you both have been amazing,” Clint replied cheerfully. “Seriously, thank you for all the tips. Definitely helpful. Have a lovely day. Bye Max!”

_Lovely. Ew._ Clint waved and looked at his map before he took off down the streets. Hotel, sightseeing, food, hotel for sleep. He’d worry about finding reliable internet tomorrow. Clint found a hotel easy enough- relatively cheap, not a terrible side of town where he’d make terrible life choices- it was a win. Clint got his key for his room and headed off.  


Sweep number one of the room took him all of fifteen minutes. Test the windows, test the electricity, the safe, the plumbing; check under the bed, in drawers, anywhere something could be hiding. He stood on the bed, checked the walls for seams, checked the ceilings for the same damn thing. And when round one was done, Clint went in for round two to settle his nerves.

He stored his weapons bag carefully under the bed and checked the stash on him. He was hoping his first day in town he wouldn’t have to use anything and could just enjoy himself for a change.

\-----

_Breathe in and hold it. Relax into it. Exhale and release. Nice and slow, you have time._ Clint smiled at the release of the first arrow, his soul melting around the edges at the first _thunk_. He took a deep breath and grabbed the next from the quiver next to him on a stand, twirling it a little before he lined up his next shot.

It had been months since Clint had target practice. Or, rather, this kind of target practice. The kind where you could take it nice and slow, where it settled all his nerves and let his mind wander into something more comfortable. It was something he planned on savoring before he thought it would get too awkward to the other people around him.

Clint shot off a few more, twirling the arrows before each shot. He reminded himself that he couldn’t do anything to draw too much attention to himself; no showing off minus the not missing part. Clint wasn’t sure he could miss anymore unless he really worked at it. Zeroing in on targets had came naturally.

“Excuse me.”

Clint lowered his bow and looked over then down. The girl couldn’t have been more than ten, maybe eleven. Clint blinked and looked around for a parent before he looked back down. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked carefully.

“Can you show me how to do it?” she asked. “My brother does it but he won’t help me. No lessons until I am ten.”

Clint blinked and leaned down. “But if I show you, won’t that count as a lesson?” he asked. “Maybe you should ask a parent or-”

“If they say yes, will you agree?” she asked eagerly. Her smile was becoming too infectious and Clint stood straight.

“Yeah, sure. But the parent has to come here to say yes,” he said. He barely got the words out before she took off at a spring. Chuckling, Clint turned back around and looked down the range. He could probably fit one more in…

Clint took out an arrow and lined the shot up carefully, taking his time. As soon as he released he knew it was good. The bullseye was taken up, completely covered and if that wasn’t the most satisfying image…

“My daddy said yes!”

Clint had forgotten about the little girl and lowered the bow. He laughed seeing her holding a bow that was probably a size or three too big, that eager smile back on her face. Behind her was an older gentleman, looking downright apologetic.

“See daddy! I told you he was good! Look at his target thing!”

“Are you sure about this?” the man asked before he looked down the range. “Woah-”

“Woah indeed,” Clint replied. He held a hand out. “Nate. I did archery competitively in America when I was in high school. Kinda stuck with it after that but… you know how higher education goes. Study, study, study.”

“If you are sure…” he said.

“Yeah, definitely,” Clint replied. “She’s in good hands. I’ve got her.”

Clint was a little unnerved at how willing the father was to leave his child with a stranger, but it wasn’t like the place was deserted. Clint just knew too many weird people to ever think of trusting kids with strangers; hell, Clint wasn’t sure he trusted himself with a child.

“Alright, let’s see what we can do,” Clint said with a bright smile.

Clint found he was a lot more patient with children than he ever could be with adults. He didn’t like to admit the weakness, but kids were damn cute. And little kids with accents? He melted into a pile of smiles and emotions. He was gentle, cheered when appropriate at the small victories; encouraging but quick to help her stance, help with anything really.

“Come on, Anna, it’s time to go.” Clint looked over then laughed when the little girl whined, her shoulders slumping dramatically. “Tell Mister Nate thank you.”

“Thank you!” she said.

“Hey, not a problem,” Clint replied. “Keep practicing when you are allowed to take lessons. I think you got some real talent.”

“You think so?” she asked.

“Know so,” Clint replied. “Go on, have fun.”

Clint watched the little girl sprint over to her father to turn the bow back in. Her brother high fived her, his equipment in a case on his back. Clint watched the little family as they left the range and he sighed. He should be going- he was out of arrows and it had been over an hour.

“Hey,” an employee said, walking over. “I saw you with Anna. And uh- we are hiring if you’d like to apply.”

Clint was confused for a moment before he held his hands up. “Oh, no, sorry. I’m American. I’m just over here on vacation,” he replied. “That’s sweet though.”

“Well, if you change your mind and like Amsterdam, we’ll help with a working visa.”

Clint was a little stunned at the forwardness and the thought in general. Him… a teacher. It was almost laughable. He wasn’t sure he could fake high school diplomas- he wasn’t sure what one even looked like. And him around children- terrifying thought. No one knew who he was, knew what he had done in the past.

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in the back of my mind,” Clint replied. “I need to be going through. So… I’ll just be turning these in.”


	4. Chapter 4

A week. The exact length of time Clint could stand taking a break and being a tourist. He had done a lot in that time frame; he visited museums, found space to relax in the green spaces around Amsterdam, even took a bicycle out a few times. If it was mundane, he did it. He even bought himself a small trinket, a pressed penny. Maybe that would be a good way to keep track of where he has been- smashed and decorated pennies.

But now it was day seven and Clint was bored. He still hadn’t made it to the red light district yet, not properly, so that was on the bill for the day. Just like the previous days, his fingers itched at the thought of leaving his bow behind, but he had no way of easily concealing it and he wasn’t on a job. If he did need to fight, he was going to have to do it at close-range, which was a little unnerving. Cint preferred to keep everything at a good distance if he could.

Clint walked through the city, just as lively as ever, and took in the sunlight. He bought himself coffee and some bread and cheese, eating in the park and people watching. He crumbled some of the bread to feed the birds, smiling as they walked about to pick up the crumbs. He huffed out a laugh when they flew away the instant he stood up.

As he approached the red light district he saw some attraction down the road, crowds of people swarming a building. Clint paused to assess the situation before he realized people seemed excited. He jogged across the road, waved to a car apologetically, then slowed as he approached. People were holding out their phones to snap a photo of something. Clint stood on his tiptoes.

_Stark Expo._ Clint could recognize the Stark Industry logo anywhere. He remembered being a kid, being impressed by all the Stark shit. He was like every other kid- flying cars sounded like the best damn thing in the world. Clint forgot about this event. He walked around the outer edges of the crowd and soaked in all the positive vibes.

Clint looked towards the back street from the side of the building and saw something red. He tilted his head and looked at the crowd again before he walked down towards the back of the building, a little curious. The crowds soon thinned but he could still hear all the commotion. When things started to get quiet from the street noise, he turned to see the access to the back of the building.

Clint climbed the fence and dropped down the other side. _This shouldn’t be this easy._ He didn’t see anyone, which seemed odd. If that Stark guy was in the building, there should be a hell of a lot more security, right? Unless they were all inside the building, but one should at least be posted outside the back door. Clint strolled over, hands in his pockets as he looked around the back lot. It was packed with cars, some trucks to carry in whatever items came traveling through.

Clint got to the door and his steps faltered. There was a slight gleam of blood just near the handle, a small bit on the ground. Okay- this looks bad. Now Clint’s fingers really itched for his bow. Clint tugged the hem of his sleeve and pulled the back door open. _Even better- damn thing is unlocked._

Clint hesitated. There was more than one man on the ground, slumped over. A few were still breathing, but a few of the others… _what in the hell?_ Clint stepped through the hall, reaching back and keeping on hand on a knife he had hidden.

He knew he should turn around and say screw it. Whatever this was, this wasn’t his problem. But at the Stark Expo there was only one target he could think of; Tony Stark himself. And while the guy seemed to be a douche at it’s finest, Clint could see the value behind the guy. If nothing else, he signed checks to donate to charities back in the states- and he didn’t have any ties to illegal activity that Clint had ever known. Even though sometimes Clint wondered if the company worked closely with AIM.

He heard a sharp crack and he pressed his body against the wall. There was some motion, it sounded like legs kicking, then a painfully obvious lack of any noise. Clint moved to get a better angle, needing to see down the hall.

The flash of red was too fast. Clint took several fumbled steps back, trying to keep his purchase while avoiding the sharp end of a knife. He knocked into someone on the ground and fell back, groaning when he made contact with the ground. He barely had time to grab the wrist of the knife hand before it could plunge into his neck.

It took a lot of energy, maneuvering, to get the figure off him enough to get back to his feet. Clint pulled out his own knife and looked at the figure. She was so damn small that it took him by surprise. Her red hair had been pulled back at one point by a braid, but the ends were coming loose. And her eyes- they were filled with hate.

“Who in the hell are you?” Clint asked.

He wasn’t surprised when there wasn’t an answer. She launched back into an attack and _god, why does she have to be some damn fast?_ Clint had to work hard to keep at her pace, keep himself small, limit his range because she could easily sneak in. He liked to think he at least got as many hits in as she had, but he was only being kind to himself.

She was younger from what he could tell- maybe close to sixteen. But her training was flawless and Clint- he was a learn as you go kind of person. Anytime one of them would make a move to counter the other, there would be another counter. A lot of blocked blows, a lot of twisting, feinting, flips. Clint at least was able to avoid her lifting him, but if he lifted her, she always had a solid way of countering his move. It was maddening.

Clint felt himself fall back, tripping over a body he had lost track off. Clint didn’t have time to move up before she was on him, pinning him down. Clint went lax under her touch. Conserve energy, idiot he thought to himself, which was a hard thing to do when the other person had a knife.

“You draw too much attention,” she said. “People know you.” 

“You didn’t drag my ass out to a Stark event to tell me this, right?” Clint asked slowly. “Like, I’m not the primary target here, right?” The twitch of her lips told him everything he needed to know, and it was infuriating. “Are you kidding me? You left a load of bodies behind you, we are going to get caught and-”

“You’ll be dead.”

“Bullshit,” Clint snapped. Her eyes narrowed, bristling at the comment; he watched as her fingers wrapped tightly around the knife. “You are in the same spot I am as far as I can see. One misstep and you are the one under me and my knife. I can sniff a damn stalemate. Who the hell are you?”

“Black Widow.”

“Terrible name,” Clint snarked. He watched the anger build. “Or did you come up with it yourself? Because that sounds like something a twelve year old-”

As soon as the anger was there, she made the mistake he needed. He was able to maneuver himself out, throwing her just enough off guard. They were both quick to their feet before Clint noticed something hurting. Clint paused and looked down before he saw blood soaking through his shirt over his left shoulder. He swore and looked up at the woman.

“Okay, just throwing this out there- I fucking hate you,” he commented. “If this is poison I am going to be so pissed.”

Clint just wanted out now. There were too many variables at play and he hated the odds. He was certain he could push his shoulder more if he needed to- he had worse injuries in the past, but if it was poisoned, he was really screwed. He wasn’t lying though- the two seemed to be at a stalemate. He noticed now the wound on her leg and one on her arm. Neither of them could get the upper hand and they were both tiring.

She was the faster runner but Clint had overall strength on her, though at times it seemed like she could inhumanely catch up in that department. Clint looked down the hall, he could see the door partially open. He could make it- but he still needed to be able to take her down. At least tie her up so she didn’t follow him.

And that’s when the beautiful moment happened. There was a loud noise from a few halls down, and then everything went dark. Clint held his breath and waited. Five, four, three, two- and threw a knife down the hall opposite where the outside door source was. And then he saw the door open, saw the flash of red. It was only by a small miracle she had fallen for the trick because it was the only idea he had up his sleeve.

Clint ran down the hall, away from the back entrance. He knew there had to be another entrance by the front, in the crowds of people. He just needed to make it there. In the dark, the halls made no sense, but he could hear the distant sounds. If he followed them, he figured he’d eventually get out of this new hell.

\---XXX---

Clint stood in front of the mirror, taking a long drink from his glass of whiskey before he went back to work. There was no way in hell he was going to get these stitches done properly if he was drunk, but he didn’t particularly enjoy giving himself stitches either. And the whiskey was calming his nerves.

_You draw too much attention_\- people know you kept replaying in his head. Clint thought he had played it cool, went slow enough not to draw a lot of attention. He thought he had this under control. But now with two sets of people recognizing him, Clint was ready to disappear again. Take an extended amount of time off, make himself small for a bit to get some heat off of him. He could do that- he just wasn’t sure how.

Clint hissed when he shoved the needle point in a little too deep and focused on the task. It had been an hour, and so far there weren’t any nasty side effects, so he was guessing poisoning was out. But she had managed to get him fairly deep, likely enough to scar. He’d have another failure marked on his skin; or maybe success because at least he didn’t die.

Black Widow. What the hell kind of name was that? He needed to remember to write it down and do some research. She had said it with a cool confidence that it had to mean something. If Clint wanted to avoid the woman, he was going to have to figure out who exactly she was. It was going to be hard, probably involving a lot of conspiracy theory websites (which were his favorite), and piecing together bits and pieces that made sense.

Not that she made sense. She was so young, Clint was sure of it. She definitely was younger than him, more skilled than him if he was being honest; coming out alive was probably sheer luck. She was small but stronger than he had thought, and Christ was she fast.

Clint finished the stitches then laid down on the bathroom floor. He sucked in a deep breath, holding it as his body adjusted to the cold. His sides were killing him and forming the world’s most wicked looking bruises, but they didn’t feel cracked. His hips were surprising hurting worse than his back.

Clint stared at the ceiling. He needed a new plan and he needed one fast. He wasn’t going to stay in the same city as that woman. _Black Widow._


	5. Chapter 5

Clint was laying on a rooftop in southern Germany, wiggling his fingers to keep them heated. It had been five months since he ran into the infamous Black Widow and he was taking mostly baby jobs, which were boring but at least they paid. This was his first big job since and of course it was freezing and had snowed.

Clint had been casing this man for nearly two weeks, establishing a pattern of behavior. And he figured that he may as well take the guy out on a Monday- it was the day he was normally leaving this seedy hotel with his mistress. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursday- that was what Clint had seen. It was harder for the man to get away from family responsibilities on the weekend. Lucky for Clint- the man had grown children because taking down someone with young children always left a bad taste in his mouth.

He checked his watch and pulled up to his knees and nocked an arrow. If patterns played out, he should be exiting anytime now. Anytime now he could walk out, Clint could take the shot, and then get the hell out of this cold. He was going to have to move south- he hated this cold business.

A man walked out of the hotel and Clint made sure it was him before he released the arrow. As soon as it made contact Clint was up and working his way down off the rooftop. _Coffee- I am coming for you, you sweet goddess_ he thought as he folded his bow down and tucked it into the backside of his pants so it would lay flat along his back. Warmth stung his cheeks more when he got inside but he took the stairs at an easy jog. He was in no hurry- he couldn’t look like he was and draw attention. And the best part about old buildings in Germany? Only stairs were available so it wouldn’t look suspicious when he was taking them.

There was a crowd outside and he put on a frown and walked over to join them. One man was attempting CPR, which Clint knew wouldn’t work but good for that guy for trying. A few people were on their phones, likely with emergency response personnel. Clint faked looking shocked before he backed away and turned to walk. He just needed to get two streets over where foot traffic was heaviest. He could blend in and be-

Clint was thankful that whoever was holding the gun was a terrible shot. He didn’t check his surroundings and ran for cover. Other people were running now as well, but much in the open. Clint lost his jacket and grabbed his bow and pulled out two arrows. He took a deep breath and edged away from cover and heard the gun again. He ducked back into cover for a moment to figure out his best choice before he moved back out and took the shot. He heard two gunshots before nothing. He grabbed one more arrow for good measure and swung out more from his cover. Nothing. Clint didn’t like nothing- nothing felt wrong in this situation. 

He heard something behind him and he angled himself to the side and looked down the alley. There was a woman standing there with her hands held up. Clint didn’t recognize her, but she looked calm, confident, and that didn’t add up either. He glanced up and someone was on the roof. _Oh great- trap._

“You sure do make a name for yourself, kid, don’t you?” she asked as she walked over. “Do you have any idea who that man was?”

“Bare basics,” Clint answered. “Though I am starting to think I should have dug a bit better.” _Another guy inside the building, second story. He has to go first. Then the lady if needed, then the guy on the roof. Too many quickdraws- high chance of getting hurt._

“Where did you train?” she asked.

“Heh, wouldn’t believe me if I admitted to it,” Clint responded with a grin. “Can we get to the point? It’s cold and I want coffee. And they will only be open for another hour if I am lucky.”

“I have a proposal for you,” she said.

Clint wanted to snark about it being a ‘take it or die’ situation but he wasn’t going to admit he knew where the people were in hiding. He was hoping that she thought he hadn’t caught on yet, give himself the element of surprise.

“We want to extend an offer to you to join HYDRA,” she said. Clint wrinkled his nose at the name. “We are given a bad name, sure, but we are shaping and changing the future. We want to see things become better.” Clint lowered his bow- he needed a solid plan while she gave her speech; there was _always_ a spiel with these people. “You are talented, we can see that. Can you tell me who paid you to kill Mr. Fischer?”

“Probably could, most likely won’t,” Clint answered. “How do you know it was a hit job?” He heard sirens and he needed to go. Hiding a bow quickly was going to be hard. But he had to remain calm. “So… I am going to assume that if I say no thanks, you’ll just have me killed.”

“You are correct,” she answered.

“Yeah… that’s what I figured. I guess I know what my decision has to be then.” She smiled and stepped closer. “Take down the threats.”

Clint raised his bow and took down the man on the second story first, moving soon after to avoid a series of gunshots. He raced across and grabbed the woman, knocking her gun down and away before pulling her flat against his chest, bending to give himself more coverage. He thought it was a good plan, until they man on the roof shot her. _Who the hell shoots their own people?_ he thought bitterly, dumping the body and on the move. The man up top had a pretty good advantage and Clint was a bit screwed. He needed his jacket to conceal his weapons, he needed to collapse down the bow, and he didn’t know if there was someone else in wait.

He heard a gunshot nearby and he nearly fell, fumbling backwards. He drew an arrow and nocked it quickly before he took aim. The red hair, those green eyes and- great. She didn’t move, blocking his access to his coat. Clint kept the tension back, and stared at her. If she decided to shoot, there was no way he could guess which direction she feint; he was most likely to miss her if anything.

She lowered the gun and walked closer. Clint took himself a few steps back, but he was not going to lower his weapon. She bent down and grabbed something out of the woman’s jacket and pocketed it before she stood and turned, walking silently back down where she came from. Clint didn’t move, too confused by the event. She had him- easily had him, and she left him. He lowered his bow and darted to the left, grabbing his jacket.

A bullet whizzed by his head and he jerked himself back before glaring down the alley. He could barely make out the smirk on her face before she rounded the corner. Oh, I fucking hate that one.

Clint only stopped for coffee before making it back to his hotel room. He was chilled to the bone now, desperate to take the world’s longest hot shower. He finished his coffee before he entered his hotel room and froze. _Someone was in here._ It was barely shifted, but the curtain was different. His bags didn’t look moved, but they had been examined. Someone found him. 

Clint checked the ground and the walls before he took steps forward into the room. He couldn’t leave his things- there was too much in there he needed to keep his tracks well covered. He saw a note on the bed and reached out, picking it up.

_Move from Germany before you get yourself in trouble. This is your only warning.  
-Black Widow_

Clint read the note twice before he noticed a picture laying at the head of the bed. He frowned and shifted his weight. He could see himself there, and he remembered that day. He had just gotten into town and was enjoying the snow. He was sipping some coffee and the woman who was now dead was nearby. _They are tracking me_ he thought. He needed to head north, get some distance.


	6. Chapter 6

Clint launched an arrow across the open space, watching as the small hooks of his grappling arrow flew open and gave purchase. Clint turned and launched another arrow at the man who thought he was being sneaky and watched him fall back, caught in a sea of pink.

“Ha! Got’cha!” he exclaimed proudly. He climbed on top of the rail and took a deep breath before he swung down, fingers mentally crossed that the grappling hook would hold. He grinned as he neared the ground. “Hey HYDRA!” he shouted and three men looked up. “Hail this!” He let go and collapsed into the threesome, taking them down. 

He rolled back to his feet and ran down the hall, needing a little space. By the time he turned he had two arrows in his hand, lined the shot up and took it, aiming for the feet of the front two. He laughed like a maniac when a foam of pink spewed out, their feet sticking to the ground and the three tumbled over each other.

Five months was the amount of time Clint took off. He needed time to rest, heal, and figure out just what he was doing. He honed skills he needed to develop, invented attachments for his arrows so they could have multiple purposes. So far he was at an explosive arrow, a putty arrow, and a grappling arrow, and he was too damn proud of them. He was quicker on his feet, smarter when picking a battle.

Five months and Clint felt like he had found himself again. He took a step back from a hitman role and found himself less depressed, more thankful, but a hell of a lot more tired. Being somewhat a good guy really zapped the energy out of you when there were bad people all around you. And when he wasn’t fighting or running from them, he was hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D., which had found him twice in that timespan. 

Clint slowed down and back tracked when he saw the computer room. “Bingo!” He opened the door and nearly skipped to the computers, throwing in the first flash drive. He grabbed a seat and looked at the screen, clicking through different prompts. While he wasn’t anywhere close to a tech genius, he had learned a thing or two about accessing HYDRA and AIM databases, and was shocked when they were surprisingly simple, begging to be hacked and secrets taken.

Clint heard a noise and ducked down, hearing gunshots follow. He pulled another arrow out and took a deep breath, held it, and listened. He needed to stall- gathering all that information onto a flashdrive was going to take ages. He wasn’t quite sure how many HYDRA agents were at this location, but it was small so he was hoping not many.

A shadow came into view and he tossed his arrow away from him, watching the shadow turn and hearing the gun go off again. _Jumpy little bastard_ he thought as he slid out of his place and grabbed the man, giving a sharp tug to the arm and watching the gun go flying. The man started frantically shouting in German and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Hush, it’s okay, you don’t look like someone too scary,” he commented. He pulled him back and shoved him into a chair. “Ooooh, scientist. Goodie. I need a specific file. 008-012-2002-BW-RR. Aaaaaand, go.”

The scientist stared up at him, terrified and shaking. And yet he didn’t make a move to open the file. Clint turned the seat and scooted him closer to the computer. “Lets try this again. 008-012-2002-BW-RR. Off you go. Be a gent.” When the man didn’t move again Clint rolled his eyes and pulled a gun out, turning the safety off. That made him snap to attention. “There we go- a little motivation.”

Looking around the room idly, Clint paused at one computer screen before he walked over to it. There was a chair with multiple straps, something hanging above where someone’s head would have been. The thing looked like a damn torture device. Clint felt himself bristling as he looked at the feed of that room, leaning in a little, putting a hand on the desk. He clicked a few buttons to zoom in, narrowing his eyes.

There was a click and Clint didn’t move for a moment before he slowly straightened himself. “Going to shoot me, get it over with,” he said carefully. He turned just enough and his face scrunched. “Oh God, not you.”

“I need him when you are done with him.” The Black Widow stared him down before glancing at the man in the chair and back again.

“Going to kill him?” Clint asked.

“Oh god,” the man whispered, petrified.

“Going to kill me?” Clint asked her when she didn’t answer.

“Depends on if you get in my way,” she answered sharply. “What is he looking up?”

“Well… you,” Clint answered. He saw the raise the gun and he ducked down before the first shot could get off. He closed the gap and pushed her back, blocking her right arm with his.

It was the same song all over again, the same dance. Just as one got the upperhand, there was a counter move to change it all. The only difference was that this time Clint had the confidence he lacked last time. It felt easier, he took less body shots that were his critical mistake from last time. Clint watched her switch hands with her knife several times, trying to get in closer. That’s when he noticed the scientist moving to leave.

“He’s getting away,” Clint said. Just as she looked over Clint jolted her hand down, squeezed her finger and shot the man in the leg. “Oops.”

She growled and ducked around him, going for the computer. Clint raced her, grabbed her arm. It wasn’t like he _needed_ that file, he didn’t need any answers on her; but it sure would make everything easier if he had it. He didn’t like leaving her as a loose end, and he certainly wanted to know who had sent the bitch after him in the first place.

Clint had just got his hand on the flashdrive when something jerked him backwards. Clint yelped and ducked his head just before a flash of metal zipped by him. There was a gasp nearby, barely there but enough to surprise Clint. He leveled his eyes with a mask over someone’s mouth and dark eyes, barely there over a curtain of brown hair.

Clint tried to turn, change positions, but the man had stood firm. Clint saw the knife and he twisted him body to avoid getting stabbed. The man lifted Clint and threw him, his body crashing over a table and several computers. He wasn’t sure what was hurting worse- his head or his shoulder he landed on. He rolled off the table and landed on his forearms, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on not vomiting for a moment.

_Okay- this looks pretty bad, Barton._

He looked up to watch the redhead tumble with the larger, thickly solid man. And even then he could tell it was a no-win situation. He heard her scream before he could fully register what had happened. He was on his feet, his hand already on an arrow. He saw the metal arm reach out, grab the woman by her neck, pushing her down on the table. 

Clint moved as quickly as he could. At the same time he heard a gun, he managed to lodge the arrow with enough force under a metal plate and pink sludge started dripping out. He shouted in pain and worked his way back, his good hand dropping down towards his hip. _Not broke, flesh wound- still in the game._

Those dark eyes were on him now as he turned. Clint reached back and grabbed his bow. There was no way he could keep this at a distance, not in this packed lab. Five months of avoiding close combat situations down the drain, just to come against someone that seemed all too capable at kicking his ass Clint thought. 

“So… truce, right?” he asked, doing a quick glance to the Black Widow. “We take a pause in fighting to kinda, you know, make it past mid-boss here?”

He caught the slightest nod from her and he nodded back. Two against one was maybe cheating, especially when it seemed like the putty arrow had at least made the metal arm catch more often than not. What Clint couldn’t get done, she picked up the slack. They just needed something to give them a break.

“You can run, right?”

Clint focused on her for a moment, taking a hit and being forced on the ground. He saw a knife flash and he had to roll out quickly, coughing back a gasp at the pain in his shoulder. “Yeah, sure, run,” Clint said, out of breath as he made it to his feet. “Except, you know- you are at the door and I’m kinda… by a wall. With metal arm. It’s great though, this is fun. I want to do this every day.”

“Stop rambling and find a break,” she snapped.

“Yeah, going to need help with- is that a fucking grenade?” he asked, his eyes widening.

“This give you a little motivation?” she asked almost innocently.

Clint swore when the knife caught his arm but he used the man’s momentum to slam his head against the wall next to his body and Clint collapsed down. He scrambled for purchase before he ran for it. He felt her right behind her, heard the man before he heard nothing at all but felt the heat. 

He fell and covered his head from debris. Clint could only hear the loud noises and an intense ringing, squinting to focus. He pushed himself up and looked down. _Oh shit._ The Black Widow was still on the ground, breathing but not moving. He looked around then grabbed her gun. He spotted two agents and shot, then one more from the left. He dropped down and hauled her up.

She was pissed, her mouth moving a mile a minute. Clint could barely hear a few of those words. “Can’t hear you, bitch later. Move.” 

He saw her open her hand, two bloodied little discs in them. He looked at them then at her. She looked towards a doorway, towards their exit and he nodded. He helped steady her weight as they made it down the hall. One more guy, and she made the shot. She held up a hand, flashing her hands open four times. He was guessing twenty seconds was all the time they had.

Clint nodded and took one, slapping it on the frame at the same time as her and they both made the effort to run.

\----

Clint had moved from Dresden to somewhere outside of Hamburg, renting a cabin. It was day five after the HYDRA base attack and he was fairly sure he could die and be happy about it. His shoulder was killing him; the bruise extended past just the hand print metal arm had left, and he hoped there wasn’t more damage that he couldn’t see. The gunshot wound didn’t even make him flinch anymore, not when compared to his shoulder.

Clint was lying on the bed in the cabin flat on his back, his eyes on the ceiling. He needed to focus, process all the information because he had to learn from the experience. But his mind kept clouding over and he closed his eyes.

He heard a creak at the window and he didn’t flinch. If someone wanted to kill him then have at it, he thought. He was too tired to care at the moment. He heard it shift open and he finally looked over.

“Oh for fucks sake,” he groaned when he saw the red hair. “Coming to kill me? If so, make it quick, will you?” He rolled his head around the pillow, trying to find a comfortable spot again. He huffed and looked over at her, her eyes fixed on him. “At least have the decency to look like you’re hurt. He stabbed you right in the gut.”

“You are not going to get up and fight to live?” she asked and he glanced down at her hand where she was holding the gun. 

She at least looked like her gait was changed from the attack, which made him feel slightly better about his current state. How she was standing, Clint had no idea. It had to hurt, putting pressure on her abdomen, but her face showed nothing. 

“Mmmh- nope. Won’t win anyway. I know when I’m screwed.” Clint closed his eyes.

He heard her walking closer and she pulled out a hearing aid. Clint opened one eye to watch her as she turned it over in her hand. Then she set it down next to his ear. She looked curious over the whole situation before she stared at his shoulder, perplexed.

“The information you got from that base- I want it,” she said finally.

“You better run back to that base then, my drive got damaged,” Clint informed her. He reached over and heard a faint click. “You really going to shoot me for grabbing my hearing aid?” He asked, slipping it back into his ear and looping it back.

“So you learned nothing?”

“Nothing gets by you, Widow,” Clint answered, rolling his eyes. “Just shoot me and get over with it.”

“I have questions that need answered.”

“Oh goodie,” Clint mumbled. “How did you find me?”

“You didn’t make it easy if that makes you feel better,” she said, taking a seat at the end of his bed, her hand still pressed against her gun. “Who do you work for?”

“No one.” He heard a growl and he glanced down at her. “Believe what you want, I’m solo. Just a guy who apparently has anger issues or something. I don’t know.”

“You got yourself in this much trouble just because you were... what? Bored?” She asked.

“Yeah, I decided to go around taking in random jobs that are a bit sketchy because I’m bored,” Clint answered sarcastically.

She was the poster child of a blank face Clint thought. He was having a hard time reading her, even her eyes seemed to be lacking that intensity she once had. She was confused still, he knew that. He just didn’t understand why she hadn’t shot him yet.

“You should go to the hospital for that,” the black widow commented as she stood up.

“How do you propose I make that happen with a fake ID?” Clint asked with a laugh. “No medical insurance. Ride it out.” It wasn’t like he didn’t want to go to the hospital and make sure things were fine- he just knew the practicality if it all was not in place. “Anyway, they could call S.H.I.E.L.D. and I already have ran into them once. Don’t need to tempt that fate again.”

“What were you really doing at that base?” she asked.

“Gathering information and then leaking it,” Clint answered. “Certain files, not all, just some relevant to key words.”

She looked stunned. “You were hacking them?”

“Shocking, right?” Clint asked with a grin. “Five months laying low and I learned a thing or two. And now here we are.”

“What information?”

“Human trials- leaked it out to S.H.I.E.L.D.s radar, let them handle the rest,” Clint answered. “Probably had base locations associated. Maybe they can save a few people in the process.”

She slipped and Clint didn’t flinch. Her hand lowered away from the gun as she thought about the material. “You really are a stupid blond,” she muttered. “You should have ran when he had me,” she insisted. “You could have easily gone, at least get a head start. Why did you risk it?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Clint groaned, rubbing his head, ruffling his hair. “You going to kill me or… whats happening here?”

She got up and headed for the door. “Don’t stay long- S.H.I.E.L.D. will catch up soon.”

“Wait- why did you even-” Clint said before she was gone. He groaned and laid back down. He was going to have to worry about this later; for now, he just needed a nap.


	7. Chapter 7

Clint jumped off the bus at Kiel, carrying both of his bags in his hand as he walked towards his hotel. His shoulder felt a little better after resting it for two weeks, but nowhere close to where it should be. It had taken a lot of over the counter drugs to make him feel somewhat normal, which was frightening. He needed to drop his gear off then focus on food. The hotel he had picked looked quiet enough, was in the middle of town so easy access to everything. The clerks at the front were nice enough, recommending local places to try during his short stay. Clint thanked them and dumped his items into his room.

He only made two sweeps of the hotel before calling it good enough. His head was pounding and if he didn’t get some food and caffeine in him soon, he was going to get a migraine. He checked his weapons back quickly, taking one gun with him on the road. Clint was not in fighting condition, not at the moment, so if something were to happen, he’d have to ignore it. No randomly saving the day. Mostly satisfied with his job being done, he made his way back out. 

Clint swung by a coffee shop and ordered himself something to drink, then made it to the next store. Within a half hour he was on a bench, munching away on a sandwich and drinking his coffee. Kiel wasn’t that busy of a city, but it was vibrant in it’s own right. The sun was out and Clint soaked in as much warmth as he could; the last two days had been nothing but rain.

He balled up his wrapped and opened a small box to his side, one cupcake that he hoped was vanilla and not a weird flavor. He turned it around in his hand, inspecting it. “Happy birthday to me,” he whispered before he took the first bite and settled back, closing his eyes. He was officially twenty-two now.

He pulled out the damaged flash drive from his pocket, trying to decide what exactly to do with it. He couldn’t just go to a library and throw it in- too many secrets that could be found. But he was curious if it was in working order after he had lied to the woman saying it was destroyed; he just needed some answered on who the hell the Black Widow was, tie up loose ends. He had heard her name spoke a few times now, mostly in hushed tones. An infamous assassin. The scope was limited on intel though. He knew one thing- she was from Russia. That much evidence was concrete.

Then the image of the man with the metal arm flashed through his head and that was troubling. Even she was scared of him and Clint had been unnerved by her- which left little room for error. He had this blankness behind his eyes, like he couldn’t feel anything. Some of those blows Clint landed should have hurt, but he had breezed through them like it was nothing. At least she had the decency to make a pained noise if Clint got a good shot in.

_One asshole at a time, Barton._ He had hoped he would never have to see either of them again. He balled up his trash and threw it away before walking to the water. He needed a plan more solid than go hide in Denmark. He needed a few jobs in a week or two, when everything would hopefully be settled and less painful. And he needed to make sure he wasn’t being tracked again.

Perhaps taking on HYDRA wasn’t a good idea. They were, after all, a huge, mostly underground organization with too many connections. But HYDRA worked closely with AIM, and Clint hated both organizations. Human experiments, weapons of mass destruction- everything that was meant to harm people, keep them down was being ran through those two companies. And now Clint was becoming known to them both. 

Clint balled up his trash and got up, walking to a bin. He flinched when he heard glass shatter nearby, then a series of screams. He turned his body before he made his way towards the screams, trying not to knock into people are they ran past. Three storefronts had their windows blown out, but there wasn’t a fire, he couldn’t smell natural gas. All he saw was a very angry teenage boy standing on the sidewalk, a terrified teenage girl, and a much older man.

Clint watched the boy raise his hand and there was something before there was more glass shattering. It was a ripple of air, car windows smashing out now. Clint had ran into mutants before, people with extraordinary powers, but he was never this close to them. Watching the teenage boy shouting in German too fast for Clint to pick up the words- Clint saw someone nearby them, another set of people getting close.

_S.H.I.E.L.D._

Clint backed up and tucked into an alley to watch. Of course they would be there- they wouldn’t just let someone like him walk the streets, not after the show. He was more concerned for the girl though. She looked terrified as she clung to the teenager. There was something more going on. Clint used the back alleys to get closer, keeping his eye out for more agents.

There was so much shouting. Clint only picked up a few words. _She, hurt, people, needle, pain. Not going. I won’t go. Took her._ More descriptions, some more troubling than the rest. Clint looked at the building then looked for street names before he walked away. There was nothing he could do at the moment. He’d have to come back.

\----

The night was turning a little more crisp than what Clint expected, which was alright for his plans. A jacket could conceal with quiver and his bow. It wasn’t ideal, it would take a moment to reach what he needed. He went back to where the windows were smashed and looked around. There was yellow tape, some windows had already been boarded. _Took her_ replayed in his head and he had a feeling he wasn’t referring to the terrified girl at his back.

Clint slipped through a crack in the window and looked around the shop. It sold essential oils, organic health drinks- everything Clint didn’t care to understand. There was no power, which meant there currently wasn’t any cameras running to catch him as he checked every inch of that store. But nothing was out of the ordinary. There weren’t any trap doors, no hidden passages- the shop was normal, from the front to the back. He went out the back alley and paused, looking around. There had to be something he was missing- that anyone would have missed. 

He went a door down- he thought it was a bakery if he read the front of that shop right. The door was locked and he could hear music. Clint pressed his ear against the door before he grabbed a pick from his pocket, working at the lock. He held his breath as he worked then took a deep breath when the door finally gave. It was late and these buildings shouldn’t have apartments above them, but there was music. Clint shrugged off his jacket and grabbed his bow and an arrow, checking the head before he was satisfied to proceed in.

It was coming from below. Clint stopped walking and scanned with his eyes. Old building, creaking floors- easier to hear if someone enters a building. With that level of noise, he wasn’t sure if that was exactly going to happen but it was the risk. He straightened before he turned, raising his bow. He was going to wait it out- pick them off. He had nothing else to do.

It was an hour into his stakeout before someone came upstairs. Clint stayed in the shadow, keeping just out of sight. A man came up the stairs, a stumble in his step. The music blared for a moment before the door closed, everything muted again. The man went to a side room, Clint guessed a bathroom, and took his sweet time. When the man stumbled back, he shouted something down the stairs to the others, a chorus of cheers. The man looked older, maybe in his fifties. He grinned before he turned and walked out the backdoor.

Clint paused for a moment before he followed out. Once outside, he rushed forward, tackling the man. There was the initial shout of surprise before Clint got his hand on a knife and held it up. He was straddling the man, his foot bumping something on the side which had to be a gun. 

“The mutant kid- who was he looking for?” Clint asked hurriedly. Clint didn’t recognize the words but he knew the accent. Russian. “English, asshole.”

“Fuck you.”

Clint flipped the knife and sliced the man’s shoulder before covering his mouth. The man bit down but Clint had his bracers on under his shirt. “Let’s try this again-”

There was a bang of a door and Clint rolled off quickly, hearing a series of gunshots. He whipped out an arrow and slid out from his cover, knee bracing him against the ground as he took the shot. He wrinkled his nose at the amount of blood that started to pour- he thought he had grabbed a putty arrow but it was a standard. Clint turned and shot another arrow, taking the original guy out. If he was going to kill at one person, he may as well kill two. This was escalating too quickly.

Clint grabbed the two arrows as he made his way inside. The music had died down a little, like the party was over. Clint was aware of the creak under his feet and he swore under his breath. He angled for better coverage when he heard a loud knock downstairs. He drew his bow back and waited. 

When the door opened he lowered his bow. The girl that looked around from the basement looked like she was twelve, if that, and dressed only in a bra and the shortest shorts Clint had ever seen. She had lipstick on, smeared at the corner of her mouth. The sight of it made him more sick than angry and he had to take a moment to collect himself. Clint put his items down and walked out from his space.

“Hey,” he whispered. The girl snapped to attention and looked over. “It’s… okay… I can get you out,” he said gently. “Are you okay?” She watched him, dazed for a moment as he reached a hand out.

He didn’t notice the look until he got close. Cold, narrowed eyes and so familiar. He went to jerk his hand back as she grabbed his arm and pulled, too strong for her tiny frame and kneed him in the stomach. Clint doubled over and forced a hand out to push her knee down before she could get him in the head. She had reached and grabbed his gun and Clint scrambled, shoving her arm away before she fired a shot. Clint flipped her over his shoulder and leaned back, dropping them both to the ground. He rolled back, grabbing his gun as he moved.

That look was still there as she pulled herself up, her nose bleeding. The same look that had been on the Black Widow’s eyes. She reached up and smeared the blood before she rushed him. She was younger, trained but not like the Widow. Clint was able to get control of the situation by the time an older man reached them.

The man had a gun as well and Clint moved for a little more coverage. It was hard- he wanted to watch the guy with the actual gun, but the girl was quicker, more of a threat in Clint’s eyes.

“You are already an enemy to HYDRA and AIM, Hawkeye,” the man said, and Clint recognized the Russian accent. “You will become an enemy to the Red Room too.”

“Yeah- no idea what that is,” Clint admitted. He knew there were going to be sirens soon- there was no way no one heard the gunshot. Which meant he needed to get moving. “The mutant boy- you took someone from him.”

Clint saw the girl feint to the left and he pushed himself back further, found himself in a blindspot. Clint gave the room a quick glance before he moved to give himself a better angle. He ducked and he hit the floor at a series of gunshots. He pushed up onto his knees, sliding a foot out. Everything was quiet again and he closed his eyes, trying to focus.

Clint moved first then ducked back down at another gunshot. Clint was pinned in place, and he heard a footstep shuffle forward. It had to be the girl now with the gun. Which meant the man would be on the run. Clint knew he was going to regret the next five minutes but he had run out of options. He checked his gun one last time and prepared himself for the nightmares.

He slipped his mindset back to a year ago and got up. She was closer than he anticipated and he took the shot, narrowly missing a bullet. He heard the gun fall before he took a step closer, firing off another shot, not bothering to stick around as he heard something crash onto the ground. He walked down the stairs to where the man was, holding a small child against his body, a knife in his hand.

“I’ll do it,” he warned.

Clint dropped his gun and held his hands up. It was a staring contest, a stalemate. He had to just wait it out, looking down at the little girl, tears streaming down her face. When he looked back up the man pitched her forward and went for a gun. Clint reached back and grabbed his knife and threw it, it sticking to the wall next to the man. It was the only distraction he needed. Clint grabbed another knife from his left and threw it, bending down to pick up his gun.

He let go of a shaky breath he had been holding. He put his gun away and looked at the little girl. He walked over and knelt down, watching her flinch. “Run,” he whispered. He closed his eyes as soon as she was gone from his sightline. He needed to get up, get moving, but there was a pain now that he hadn’t noticed before and he was exhausted. He took a few breaths before he got up and made his way up the stairs. He just needed to beat the sirens in the distance- he needed to disappear.


	8. Chapter 8

Clint felt empty again, staring up at the hotel ceiling. He made his way to Denmark quickly after that night. He had maybe seven hours of sleep in the last two days. He was wrecked from the emotions, his mind replaying the events, what he should have done differently. He got up from the bed just to go to the bathroom and vomit again.

She was just a child. She should have looked vulnerable, scared, but she was emotionless aside from the hatred that was burning behind her eyes. Clint pressed his face against the toilet lid, trying to steady himself. He didn’t want to kill her, he regretted killing her. There had to be a different way- things didn’t have to end that way. He didn’t want this. He let out a sob and laid down, curling up.

He tried to tell himself he saved a younger girl from whatever it was the men took her for. The Red Room. Clint had no context behind the name, he had never heard it. But the man knew of Clint, knew his moniker, and that was terrifying. Somewhere in Russia- all three had been Russian. 

_This is too much- what am I even doing?_ He was in too deep and didn’t have a clue what direction he needed to take. For the first time in nearly a year, Clint felt completely lost; he just wanted to go home now, not that he knew where home was anymore. It certainly wasn’t Iowa, and he wasn’t sure how to handle going back to the United States yet. But this whole European trip was spiraling out of control. Things were taking turns he wasn’t expecting. He was tired.

Clint forced himself up and back out from the bathroom. He looked at the bottle of vodka he had bought and picked it up. He walked to the window and opened it, greeted by the cool summer night. Clint upcapped the bottle and poured it out. There wasn’t much left anyway and for the first time since he checked outside, no one was out there. Clint closed and locked the window before he sat down, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

He needed to be sober tomorrow. He needed to get his head back on straight because now he had a new objective. The Red Room.

\--------

Clint woke to the shuffling of footsteps outside of his door. He pulled himself away from the wall and grabbed his bow and quiver, slinging the quiver over his shoulder. He checked outside the window- nothing too out of the ordinary. Normal cars- normal traffic pattern. No flashing lights, no sirens. Clint thought maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him- maybe he left his hearing aids in too long again. But then he saw the shadow by the door before he saw a small disc slip in. He swore and opened the window and dangled out. There was a hissing noise, a gas.

Clint looked around him and slowly pulled himself along the edge. The closest thing was a dumpster, which was absolutely disgusting but it would have to work. Clint took a deep breath then let go. He crashed into a pile of trash and covered himself up, waiting, keeping still. He saw two heads peek out the window. He recognized them- they looked to be the same as the people from the train to Amsterdam. Their faces disappeared and Clint hurried to climb out of the dumpster. He pulled an arrow out and nocked it before he raised his bow.

The two came into view and stopped, staring. Clint grinned and let the arrow loose, it exploding into pink foam around their feet, spraying up. Clint grabbed another and lined it up as he made his way towards the two, eyes averted to their hands.

“Hey Captain Khakis and his lovely assistant,” he greeted. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He lucked out- the putty made it to their hands before they could grab guns.

“I think you know,” the woman said.

“Mhhh- small miracles then,” Clint said, waving his hand to the putty. He put his arrow away before he lowered his bow. “I have no interest in going to jail.” He looked around the putty, circling them before he took badges, guns. “Agents… Coulson and… Hill.” He walked back to face them with a smile. She looked absolutely pissed while he looked amused.

“We just want to talk,” Agent Coulson said.

“Yeah, I am calling bullshit,” Clint said, dropping their badges. “These are some fancy guns. Not normal. New S.H.I.E.L.D. tech then. Wanna tell me what they do?” he asked. He opened the chamber and took out a single bullet- though it looked different, very different.

“You shouldn’t play with things when you don’t know what they do,” Agent Hill said.

“Eh, I’ll take my chances. That putty takes awhile to dissolve without the right reagents,” Clint informed them. “So- what does it do?” Clint asked. “Because you are carrying them for me.” Neither talked. “Alright- well-” He closed the chamber and shot the man. He didn’t look amused anymore as he fell forward. “Woah-”

“What the hell?” the woman asked.

“Hey, I asked!” Clint replied, laying him down. “Okay- glad you didn’t shoot me with this thing. I am totally keeping these.” He put them away and dangled keys in front of her face. “Thank you, Agent Hill. Maybe next time we can meet in a bar, I’ll buy you both a drink before I make him sleep.”

Clint put one of the guns away and kept the other out. “Woah, you can’t just walk around with-”

Clint heard her before he saw her. He smirked and turned and shot the gun before his arm was knocked away, catching another body as it fell. That one had been a close call- he almost didn’t notice the slight distraction. He laid her down before he straightened up. The glare from agent Hill was more than worth it.

“Yeah, I’m not that stupid,” he replied. He climbed on top of the dumpster and put the gun away. “But hey! Three against one. You guys are learning. I’m lucky I woke up when I did. Not ready to end up in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody yet.” He took out a grappling arrow and his bow, shooting it up and watching it connect to the balcony. He gave it a tug, unsure if it was going to hold his weight to climb. “Just going to collect my things now. When they wake up, tell them I said sorry.”

“You can’t run forever,” Hill shouted at him and he looked down as she struggled to get free.

“Nope, but I can for now,” Clint sang. He climbed up the rope and pulled himself up. 

He packed quickly before he raced down the stairs, pulling the hood over his head. He had concealed the two new weapons in his bag and tried to not look suspicious. He found the car they had brought and ditched the keys on the hood. It was going to have a tracker on it anyway.

Clint smiled and got on a train, buying his ticket. He wish he could see Demark- could travel to Sweden. But he had new plans now. And those plans meant slowly making his way to Ukraine.


	9. Chapter 9

“Wait- wait, please-”

Clint stabbed his knife down on the table, going through the shirt’s sleeve. The woman flinched and screamed. Clint smiled and sat down at the table, setting his other knife down gently. Her eyes widened at the sight.

“You aren’t my primary goal here, Mrs. Kushnir,” Clint said gently. He was vaguely away that he husband was moaning and groaning like an infant behind her. He tased him- nothing to continue to piss on about. “However- this is for you,” Clint said, setting a note and a cassette tape down. “Little old school but… oh well. Your husband paid me pretty well to come and murder you. Guess you should background check the people you marry more because you found yourself a grade A asshole.”

“W-what?” she asked.

Clint removed the knife from her shirt. “Hit man,” Clint answered. “Now, I am going to keep the money because, well, I want to. However- you can do what you want with that information. I do suggest the police.” The older woman looked confused. “I just did the knife thing to get you to focus. Otherwise I’d have to hear blubbering and crying and I’d be stuck here longer than strictly necessary.”

“I- don’t understand,” Mrs. Kushnir said slowly.

“Just listen to the tape, that should help,” Clint said as he got up, putting his knives away. “By the way- I know your family has ties to the KGB. Do me a favor- if you know anyone that knows a certain famous assassin going by Black Widow- tell her I am looking for her.”

Clint walked by the man and winked. “Be thankful all I did was taze you and tie you up. Guy like you deserves worse.” Clint stepped over his body and headed out the door.

He had made his way through the European continent and was settled in Ukraine at the moment. He took his time making it there- six months. He gave himself time to rest, recover, learn. Then he started the process of drawing out the Black Widow. He could never find solid leads on her, so he decided he would be bold and take the initiative.

He still took on random odd jobs. How Mr. Kushnir found him, Clint wasn’t entirely sure but he wasn’t complaining. It was an easy job- no one had to die and Clint got paid to turn the tables. Anyway, he felt for the older lady; she was looking for love after her husband passed, Clint could understand that.

“Heh, snowing,” Clint commented as he walked down the street.

It was December in Ukraine, and Clint had thought that meant a lot of snow. Instead, it was a bit of snow, and bitterly cold. He missed his winter in Germany- all the snow, didn’t miss Christmas for a change. It had been nice. Here in Ukraine, though, he wasn’t so sure.

Clint ducked into a bar and smiled as he looked around. He earned this as far as he was concerned. He hadn’t picked up a drink in months, and he did something good. It was a win. Clint sat down at the bar and ordered a traditional vodka drink he had found there. A sporting event was on the television that had the bar in an absolute uproar, most people looking joyous.

Clint considered taking some time off for the holiday; maybe he could remember Christmas again this year instead of being knocked out or on the run. He already had a cabin rented through the end of the month, he could buy food to cook, make a day of it. He took a sip of his drink and looked at the television.

He barely noticed when the seat next to him was taken and he moved his drink closer. He tore his eyes away from the television and looked at the body before he looked at the bartender, offering to buy her a drink. Clint lifted his drink to his lips, suddenly nervous.

“I hear you are looking for me,” she said, her voice low, almost amused.

“You are a hard person to track,” Clint answered and smiled at the bartender when he provided the red head her drink.

“Do you have a death wish?” she asked after she took a drink. “You are drawing a lot of attention to yourself.”

“Couldn’t think of a better way to find you. We haven’t exchanged numbers quite yet,” Clint replied. “I have a question and only you can answer it.” He glanced up at her, her face unreadable. “This isn’t the place though.” He finished his drink and ordered another.

“No?”

“Mhhh- unless you want to talk a colored room in public, no,” Clint explained. Her eyes were readable then. There was something hard there, defiance, hatred. He was used to the hatred, but the defiance combining with what he thought was pain? That was new. “Told you.”

“Might need to buy me more than one drink,” she mused. “What is your name again? Nate Blair?”

Clint snorted. “Steve Smith,” he answered.

“Super American,” she replied.

“And you are… Natalia?” he asked. He tried not to laugh when she glared again. “I did learn some things about you. A bit forcibly but I managed.”

She rose an eyebrow and finished her drink before ordering another. Clint turned his attention back to the television when the crowd cheered. He had never been a basketball fan- it was too easy. He was sure playing professionals wasn’t quite as easy, but making the baskets sure as hell weren’t a challenge.

“We are still under that truce, correct?” Natalia asked.

“Mhhh- depends, you going to try to off me when I least expect it?” Clint asked with a hint of amusement. “You’ve never been on my hit. But I have clearly been on yours. Still want to know how was paying you for that one. And why a Stark event.”

“It was a two for one,” Natalie said without looking at him. “I was there for someone else, you were a bonus. You may have a bounty on that stupid blond head of yours.”

“Ooooh, bounty. Makes me sound dangerous,” Clint chuckled. “I wish them the best of luck collecting. Somehow I have a knack for surviving when I really shouldn’t.” 

“Do you dance?” Natalia asked abruptly. Clint looked over and frowned. “I was on my way to an… event. How well do you clean up?”

Clint turned in his chair to face her full on. “Are you asking me to a dance?” he asked carefully.

“You help me with something and manage not to… muck it up. And I will consider listening to your proposal,” Natalia said carefully. “It will be easier showing up with a partner.”

Clint picked up his glass and finished his drink before paying for their drinks. “Pretty sure I am not drunk enough for this but… alright.” He stood up. “Define… clean up?”

“Where are you staying?” she asked.

Clint’s lips twitched up. “You know better than that. I’m not telling, just like you won’t tell-”

“Here.” He was handed a card, an address to a hotel. “Give me an hour. Meet me. My room number is on it.” She got up gracefully before she picked up her coat, pulling it on. “Don’t be late.”

“See you in an hour then,” Clint said. 

He watched her go and tapped the card a few times against the bar. It should feel like a trap. There was no way he would have told a deadly person where he was staying. Hand them a card. But there was a storm behind her eyes now, just for a moment. It was a look Clint was very much familiar with. This trap felt more like a plea for help.

\----------

Clint was surprised at how nice the hotel was that Natalia was staying at. He nodded to the clerks at the front and went to the elevator, pressing the button. He clasped his hands in front of him, watching the numbers tick up. Ninth story- that was not exactly Clint’s favorite. He liked being up high, but not in a hotel where he didn’t know all the exits. If the building caught fire, exploded, access down to safety became a risk.

Clint walked off the elevator and found her room. It was quiet from what he could tell. He knocked before he looked down the hall. When the door opened he felt speechless. She was wearing a slim black dress, hardly leaving anything to the imagination, her red hair perfectly curled. He stared at her before he took a step back.

“Come in,” she said, walking back in. “Almost finished.”

Clint pulled a face and hesitated. That trapped feeling was coming back but he shoved it aside as he stepped in and closed the door. The television wasn’t on, which was a bit unsettling. _What the hell does she do with all her time?_ She was putting on earrings currently before she looked in the mirror.

“Zip my back?”

“Alright…” Clint walked over and avoided looking into the mirror. He took a deep breath before he did as instructed. She turned too quickly and Clint angled his body back and away. “You are doing this on purpose now.”

“Making you antsy?” she taunted.

“We agreed on a truce- doesn’t exactly mean I trust you. I just… trust you enough to keep to your word,” Clint said. “Im stupid, just not that stupid. You are still very much deadly.”

“Is that so?” Natalia asked, her hands on his shoulders. It made his skin crawl but he bit it down. If this was a test, he was going to have to pass it.

“Going to tell me the plan?” Clint asked in a bored tone.

“It’s a hit- would be nice to have someone who knows how to shoot,” Natalia answered. “You are packing, right?”

“I’m sorry, maybe you haven’t heard of me,” Clint replied. “Have we met?”

“There is possibly mob activity linked to this event,” Natalia said before she sat down to put on heels. “Which means as soon as I fire, there will be guns. And while I could handle it on my own…”

“Yeah, got it,” Clint answered. “And they aren’t going to recognize you? Or myself for that matter.”

“I doubt it,” Natalia replied. “We will deal with that when the times comes.” She stood up. Clint rose an eyebrow. “What?”

“If I didn’t know you had weapons concealed and could easily kill me, I would say you are attractive,” Clint complimented.

“You clean up nicely as well,” Natalia said, walking over. She reached out and touched his tie and Clint looked down at her hands before back up. She straightened it before her hands ran down his chest slightly. Clint tried to keep his breathing steady because _what in the fuck._ “I hope you moniker is right. And that you never miss.”

Clint snorted and stepped back before he turned. “Guess we’ll be putting that to the test now, won’t we?”

They took a cab to the address. It was a sprawling mansion, chauffeurs taking cars and moving them. There were lights everywhere on the outside, illuminating the house and it’s grandeur. Clint saw plenty of men in suits, women in their little black dresses. He took a deep breath before he felt a hand on his knee then he pulled away. He looked at Natalia who looked as blank as ever. She had already built up her walls and plastered a fake smile on her face.

“Do not step on my toes,” she warned him.

“So little faith,” Clint commented. 

The cab came to a halt and he got out. He rounded to the other side and got the door for Natalia, offering his hand. He left money in the tray for the fare and thanked the driver. He waited for her to adjust her dress, shift her feet. When she nodded he walked with her.

Clint wasn’t a fan of the event. Too many rich people, too many people to see through his facade. Clint was not rich material. He was good eye candy, he was a temptation, but when it came to socializing on a deeper level, he knew he was lacking. He didn’t know anything about cash flows, business ventures, the economy- hell, politics was definitely a no go.

The main room was decorated in too many twinkling lights, too many flowers. There was a scaled down version of an orchestra there, the music light and airy. If it wasn’t for the fact that he knew how the night was going to end, Clint would have been more awestruck by being at this kind of event. He didn’t even know events like these still happened.

Clint took two flutes of champagne from a tray and handed one to Natalia. She at least seemed to know what to do. She was making small talk, and Clint had to nod and smile through it. She had given them cover names- he was David apparently while she was Katia. The best part was, Katia was interesting. She was a scientist working on her doctoral degree in something fancy Clint couldn’t pretend to understand. David was, and this almost made Clint gag, a stay at home father to their two children. 

“Oh, David! Our wedding song,” Natalia exclaimed.

“Excuse us,” Clint replied. “I believe I need to take my wife to dance,” he added with a wink. He took her hand and pulled her to the floor. “Stay at home father-”

“The best one,” Natalia replied. “Do you object?”

“Very much so,” Clint replied, pulling her close. “We only have two children. We need to work on that. I want at least three. I think I am more than worth that.”

“You birth them, you can have a third,” Natalia replied.

“But you are so much better at that,” Clint chuckled. “Do you see him?”

“I do- we wait until the speech,” she replied. “Think you can wait another hour?”

“As long as I get to name the kids,” Clint replied. He spun her, watching the dress flare out towards the bottom before pulling her close. “See, no toe stepping.”

“How did you learn to dance?” she asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Clint answered. “We will have to teach Anna and… Sasha how to dance though.”

“Sasha… really?” Natalia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? I like Sasha. I know we can’t have favorite kids but he’s cuter than any baby ever,” Clint defended with a smirk. Natalia rolled her eyes. “And Anna looks just like her mother, lucky girl.”

The rest of the hour went by almost too quickly. There were more people to talk to, less dancing. Clint found himself settling more into David’s character. A doting father- Clint wondered exactly what that was like. His father had been far from that.

“I have something important for you to do,” Natalia whispered, leaning into Clint, pulling his head down to whisper into his ear. “The person at the podium… when the speech starts… I need you to tackle him.”

Clint smiled and turned his head to look at her before he leaned back in. He needed to keep up the loving couple charade, but it was hard when she let this bombshell drop. “I need to tackle… the speech giver. Your target isn’t-”

“This is a Stark event.”

Clint flinched back before she turned his face to look at him. “He was their target. I am just making sure that doesn’t happen is all.” She rubbed his cheek with her thumb. “Security will be on you, then the fight will break out. Figure it out. Meet me at the hotel. Don’t die, you stupid blond.” Clint was surprised when she pushed up and kissed him.

He excused himself and looked around. It wasn’t going to be easy. He was going to have to vault the barricade, then vault onto the stage. There were at least four security guards right there, pretty evenly spaced. He lost track of Natalia in the crowd and he waited for the man of the hour to make an appearance. 

How the hell did he miss that this was a Stark Event? More importantly, why did she wait for the last minute to clue him in? What the hell kind of test was this? If he failed, he didn’t know if the Stark man would die or if the hit man would be taken out before Stark could get hurt. Maybe he was only there to be a distraction. It was driving Clint mad.

Clint heard the announcement and made his way closer, checking out the security guards and deciding which was the least likely to give him an issue. The lights dimmed just a hair and there was a spotlight. He could do this- he had done harder. The stage wasn’t even that tall. Neither was the man who was going to be on said stage for that matter. Two vaults, a tackle, and hopefully avoid a bullet. It couldn’t be that hard. He hoped reminding himself of that constantly was going to help his nerves.

He clapped then the others did when Tony Stark made it on the stage. The security guard next to him got distracted by a woman who was pushing her luck and that was Clint’s break. He easily vaulted the first barricade and jumped onto the stage, the crowd gasped. Clint tackled Tony Stark to the ground just as there was a loud bang, and then something shattered. People were screaming and Clint closed his eyes against the sound for a moment.

He looked at the shocked man before he scrambled to get up before any of the guards could touch him. It felt like it had been minutes, which was only seconds. Clint jumped off the stage and saw someone approach with a gun. Clint pulled his out and fired, ignoring more screams. A guard got too close for comfort and Clint had to wrangle him in closer to take him down. He wasn’t a fan when he ended up on this back, but it was a better angle. He pulled out the S.H.I.E.L.D. gun and shot the man in the back then tossed him to the side.

When he got back to his feet, he vaulted over the barricade. He ducked at more gunshots and took off running. This would be easier if he knew where the hell Natalia was, if she needed some sort of backup. As he made his way to the exit, he had taken down two men; he was suddenly very thankful that he had stolen the guns from S.H.I.E.L.D. during the run in. He couldn’t tell who was a bad guy and who was just trying to handle the situation, and he was not in the mood to have more blood on his hands.

He scanned the room and saw a glimpse of red up high. She was mesmerizing to watch, so fluid and graceful. He reached back and pulled a collapsible bow out from his suit and a single arrow. He wasn’t able to properly secure much, but it made him feel better. He nocked the arrow and pulled back, tracking a man who was getting surprisingly close to her that she hadn’t seen yet. He took a deep breath and released, watching it strike him in the wrist, the knife dropping. Natalia whipped around and spotted Clint, giving him a small nod. When she pointed to the door he waved and took off.

Clint didn’t make it too far before he was ambushed. He felt something hit his head and he staggered back a few steps before jumping, missing a knife. At the same time, someone was at his back and grabbed his arms, pulling him back. He allowed exactly one punch to connect before he headbutted the guy behind him and lifted his legs, kicking the other man in the chest. He pulled out the gun and shot them both before he checked the chamber- only one more shot left. Not the best of odds.

With his head ringing now, his one hearing aid shot, he focused on making it back to the hotel. It took some time- no cab was stopping to pick him up, not with looking like hell. Getting directions had been hard as well, but he finally offered to pay someone to just give him the walking directions. It took about an hour longer than it should have, but he finally made it up to her room and knocked.

It was only a few seconds after he knocked that the door opened. Clint felt her grab his tie and pull him into the room. Clint stumbled forward and her lips were on his. Clint closed the door with his foot and reached back to lock it. Natalia must have taken the hint because she pushed him backwards, stepping with him so he could properly lock the door while staying in his space. 

He pulled back to catch his breath more and looked at her. Her lip was swollen and she was sporting what was going to be a black eye. His eyes traveled down as his hands traced their way up her side. She looked mostly unscathed. She must have done the same while he did his search before her hands were on his face, rubbing lightly at what were going to be nasty bruises. It was surprisingly gentle and Clint leaned into the touch. 

Clint knew he shouldn’t be playing into this, but his emotions were running just as high as hers. He was still riding the high of the event, his adrenaline still pumping. His lips were back on hers as he pushed his jacket off, her pulling him deeper into the room by his tie. He knew this was a dangerous game- he should be focusing. He should be looking for weapons. But his mind was on reaching back to unzip her dress, pushing her hands down so he could push her dress down to her hips. They both took one last moment of what was almost clarity before the inevitable “fuck it” came.


	10. Chapter 10

Clint hadn’t moved when he woke up. His mind was still groggy, not willing to commit to opening his eyes. He didn’t feel anything on his wrists anymore, and he wondered when she had released him from his tie. Nothing abnormal hurt, he felt bruised and a bit stiff but there wasn’t any stabbing pains; he was certain he was either dead or still dreaming. He rubbed his face into the pillow and tilted it to the side to take in a deep breath.

He opened his eyes and she wasn’t in the bed anymore. Instead she was standing by the window, looking out. She was in his undershirt, sipping something from a mug. Clint thought about laying there for longer, taking in the view, but his head was overriding him. He turned so he was laying on his back and looking up at the ceiling before he sat.

“Please tell me you are in possession of Tylenol or something,” he mumbled.

He heard her moving but didn’t look up right away. When he did she was already crawling onto the bed and he leaned back as she slowly straddled him. It took a moment longer than it should have to realize she was holding one of the guns he had stolen from S.H.I.E.L.D.. His eyes lingered on the metal as it touched his chest before he looked up.

“You work for S.H.I.E.L.D.,” she commented. “When did that happen?”

“Going to shoot me with that thing?” Clint asked. She tilted her head to the side. “I stole it. They found me and nearly got ahold of me. Stun guns or something. It’s like… a tranq?” He reached up and pushed it to the side slowly. “Not with S.H.I.E.L.D. Anyway, if I did work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I am pretty sure I wouldn’t be seeking you out. That’s probably against their rulebook.”

“I am surprised. Despite your rougher edges, your morals seem to align with their missions,” Natalia commented, letting go of the gun. 

“Yeah, but then I would have to work for someone,” Clint pointed out. “I am not the best at following orders.”

“You did wonderfully with it last night,” she mused. She almost looked playful, challenging him in a way, as if begging him to argue. Clint wasn’t sure what to do with that look, not on someone who was lethal.

“I had motivation,” Clint supplied, his hands touching her hips lightly. “Tylenol.”

“I am literally straddling you and your mind is on… medicine?” Natalia asked, biting her lip.

“That and coffee,” Clint admitted. She looked surprised and he raised his hips. “Move.”

“And if I say no?” Natalia asked.

“I will lay here like a dying fish,” Clint answered, going completely limp for just a moment before he bucked his hips up again. “Come on, I’ve got a headache that’s threatening to turn into a migraine. Work with me here, Nat.”

She slid to the side of him and Clint made his way off the bed. He looked around the room and grabbed his pants before going to the bathroom. By the time he was done in there, washed his hands and took two pills, swallowing them down with the sink water, she was dressed in her own clothing. Clint leaned against the wall and took her in.

“You want my help,” she said, sitting in a chair. “With what?”

“I want to take down an organization going by the name of the Red Room,” Clint answered.

She had a smirk on her lips but her eyes lacked the same gleam. “You won’t win.”

“No, I won’t, I agree,” Clint answered, walking over to her. “But we might.” He dropped down onto a bed. “When I was in Kiel, there was a disturbance. I investigated it and… ran into a girl. She looked barely twelve, if that. And she… reminded me of you. A lot like you.” Clint could see the walls building. A stony exterior and he knew he had struck a chord. “Is that where you trained? The Red Room?” he asked.

“What all do you know?” Natalia asked.

“Nothing,” Clint admitted. “The man- he said I was an enemy to HYDRA and AIM, and that I would make myself an enemy of the Red Room. The man… he had kidnapped a child. She got away with help. But the girl…” Clint looked down. He didn’t like to have those memories flood back.

“They take us young,” Natalia admitted. “They train us to be spies, assassins. The best of us get the title of Black Widow.”

“You work for them, then?” Clint guessed, looking up.

Natalia raised her chin. “Not for the last nine months,” she admitted. “You want to take them down because of two children?” she asked.

“If they are taking children period I want them gone,” Clint answered, trying to keep the bite from his tone. “I might not be on the legal side of things, but I do have morals. If I can take people down who… are taking advantage of others, then I feel like I’ve done my job. If I can take down this Red Room- maybe I won’t feel so bad, like she didn’t die in vain.”

Natalia was on her feet. Her hands were on his cheeks, angling his head up. Clint watched her and that look was back. The same look he had seen staring back at him in the mirror so often he had lost count. The fire, the pain, the need to get revenge. Her fingers left his cheek and one traced where his scar was on his shoulder.

“No.”

“No?” Clint asked.

“No. You aren’t ready,” Natalia said firmly. “You do not know what they are capable of. How they train. You aren’t ready.”

“You… are kidding me, right?” Clint asked. Natalia shook her head. “You are scared. Is that it? By going back.”

“Any sane person would be nervous,” Natalia growled, her hands pushing his shoulders back but Clint didn’t move. “You are too soft, too weak. You will see little girls and break. You will see them as children when they are not. Not anymore.”

“I can go without you,” Clint warned her. “Eventually I will hear where the headquarters are. With or without you, I can take the risk.”

“A stupid risk to take,” she warned him. “You are being bull headed.”

“That's because for once in my life I have a goal that doesn’t involve going home to kill the people who created _me_,” Clint said. “For once I can focus on something other than my end goal. Something more important. You can’t tell me you don’t want that, Natalia. You can’t tell me that you don’t want to take them down just as badly for what they did to you. Who they made you become.”

“You don’t know me.” Her tone was icy, angry. She lost the softness behind her and she was squaring up.

“No, but I know that look you make when your guards are down,” Clint answered. “I’ve seen it in the mirror enough times to recognize it.” She went to pull away and Clint grabbed her hips, pulling her back. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, standing up. She clenched her jaw and kept her eyes on him. “You want them gone just as much as I do. You would give anything to know they are done. They can’t hurt you or anyone else again.”

“How… have you made it this far?” Natalia asked. “You are reckless. You were calling me out for months, no regard for who else was watching you. You have made a name for yourself and-”

“And you regret it?” Clint asked. “Regret me being here yesterday? At the event?”

“No. You served your purpose,” Natalia replied. “Then and after. But this- this is just working because neither of us is on the other’s hit list. Once someone does strike that match, the other is dead.”

Clint dropped his hands. “So that’s it then? Just a simple no.”

“Just a simple no,” Natalia agreed, turning and walking.

Clint watched where she was heading. His heart thumped and he raced forward, trying to grab her before she could reach the gun. He felt his breath catch, felt the sting, his fingers barely grazing her arm before he collapsed onto himself, the edges of his vision getting fuzzy.

“You will thank me later for this, Clinton Barton,” she said softly.


	11. Chapter 11

Clint was in a cell, or medical, he didn’t quite know which. There was a humming, a vibration, and it wasn’t making sense. He pulled against the restraints before he went limp. His vision was still a bit blurry, his head pounding. He wanted water. _Okay… this seems kinda bad._

“Good. You are awake. We need to talk. This is a non-negotiation.”

Clint turned his head to the side. He looked like a bastard of a man, thick and solid, an eyepatch covering one eye. Clint glanced down to his shoulder and he saw the stylized bird emblem. _S.H.I.E.L.D. then_ he thought. He was shot by a stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. device, and now it was coming full circle. She had called them, ratted him out. He wanted to be angry, to scream, throw a fit. Instead, he swallowed it back and focused on the man that was taking a seat. Behind him was her.

“Agent gorgeous,” Clint acknowledged.

“I could literally shoot you,” she pointed out.

“Calm down, Maria. He is just trying to get a rise,” the man said. “You have been one hell of a person to catch, Barton. Six months and on the run, no trace. Stealing our tech, being smart enough to leave no trace. And then you got ratted out. Want to tell us by who?”

“Some bitch,” Clint muttered. “Got something to kill a headache? Because I feel an even worse one coming on.”

“I’ve got a series of questions for you. Depending on how this goes, you may or may not get that pain relief you are seeking,” he answered.

Clint felt something bump before the vibrating returned. He frowned and looked around the room before he looked back at the man. “We… are on an aircraft, aren’t we?” he asked. The man looked impressed before he schooled his face. “Awww, planes, no. I’m going back to America, aren’t I?” There was still no answer. Clint had a feeling this was going to be the next several hours of his life. “Alright- let’s get this over with.”

\-------

Clint had a love hate relationship with S.H.I.E.L.D.. He was shocked when Fury, the new director, had even offered him a position. All his records would be sealed, no one would really know about him. But there were rules, and a lot of them, some specific because of who he was coming in. And while Nick was a giant dick half of the time, he actually cared, and Clint wasn’t sure what to do with that.

For the first few months Clint was pretty sure he was going to kill another agent. The stares, the talking behind his back, the ‘accidents’ other agents did to intentionally hurt him? The anger was building and Clint wasn’t sure how long he could endure it before snapping. But he internalized it, let it build, tried to learn from it. Spent far too many hours in the gym because of it maybe, but he worked on it.

Clint had to see a therapist, that was a Maria Hill request because Clint displayed irrational thought processes. Clint got yelled at for not taking the sessions seriously. Then he had to switch therapists because he turned the tables around on one of his therapy appointments, and who knew you could learn to analyze the person in charge of analyzing you? Clint was fairly certain Fury had actually laughed at that one.

The worst were the handlers. Clint had to admit to being a dick on purpose to many of the people who were trained to handle the agents. Nick was more pissed at that end of things than he was at Clint’s unwillingness to work with his issued therapist. Clint _needed_ a handler, which was true, he really did. But when they heard wind of who he was, things typically took a turn. And Clint was not one to back down from a fight.

But then Nick pushed Agent Coulson on him, Captain Khakis. Clint sat in that room and stared at the man for three hours in pure silence. Clint knew he looked like a petulant child, his body language closed off, his jaw lifted in defiance. And Coulson sat there, a patient smile on his face, waiting out the storm. Clint wanted to scream, shout, find a way to break down another handler. But after three hours of silence, Clint caved first. He was hungry and in need of coffee. And Coulson agreed to take their first meeting on the road to the cafe if Clint would agree to talk, and it wasn’t even of anything of importance.

It took nearly a year before Clint relented, accepted Coulson fully, stopped challenging him. Clint knew what an asshole he was. But Coulson never pushed harder than what he thought Clint could take. Sure, he would shout at him- Clint did ‘stupid shit’ and was ‘reckless’ and ‘not caring if he got himself hurt’. But Coulson tried to understand Clint. He would deal with Clint’s temper, would let him work it out at the range, and then they would talk, find a redirect.

For the first time in a very long time, Clint felt himself pulling guards down. He felt like he could breath, be who he was. He didn’t have to watch his back at all times, he now had people that helped with that. It was an odd sensation after years of self-reliance to trust other people with his well being. Nick, Phil, Maria- they became a family he never thought he’d have.

Under the rules, the structure, Clint thrived more than he was willing to admit. He learned rapidly, anything he could get his hands on. He was almost fluent in more languages than he would have ever dreamed of knowing. His skills were among agents that had years on him. He was trusted with higher missions than his peers and it all felt right. He was back to doing what he loved, but with the legal aspects on his side.

He still thought about her, from time to time. Natalia. He had been so angry- he had said how he never wanted this, not yet at least. And she took that choice away from him, pushed him into it. Yet- whenever he was asked about the woman who called in his location, Clint would never say her name. She may have thrown him under the bus, no matter her reasons, but he wasn’t going to do the same. He _couldn’t_ do the same. It would only complicate things, muddle the water. Natalia was a huge target and it would be easier if no one ever learned of their past together. The fights, the working together- all of that needed to remain a secret. And Clint was good at keeping his secrets.

\--------

“_Agent Barton, time to leave. Everyone has been rounded up and accounted for._”

Clint pulled out an arrow, checking the color before nocking it and letting it loose. He watched the hooks sprawl out, make purchase opposite his location. He looked down and took a deep breath before he climbed on the edge.

“_I will kill you myself if you do it._”

Clint grinned and rolled his eyes. He touched his earpiece. “It’s perfectly safe, Phil. Stop being dramatic.”

“_You are being the dramatic one. Come down like a normal-_”

Clint swung down, resisting the urge to cry out gleefully. He rolled onto his shoulders when he got close to the ground and laid on his back, laughing. He opened his eyes and looked up at Phil. Maybe Clint was happy, but Phil was downright livid.

“Really, Clint? Really?”

“Live a little, boss,” Clint said, pulling himself to his feet. He collected a stack of arrows someone had collected for him and stuffed them in his quiver.

The mission had been easy, not worth the million agents that seemed to be swarming the small AIM base. Hell, Clint could have handled it solo if they would have let him. They had vents, and Clint loved crawling through vents. He looked around and counted. Phil hadn’t lied- every AIM agent was accounted for. And better yet- Clint wasn’t expected to aid in cleanup. 

“So… I can hitch a ride back with you, right?” Clint asked, jogging to catch up to Phil.

“Three years, Clint, and I think this is the first time you definitively asked without hinting,” Phil observed. “You are improving.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Phil. I will walk home,” Clint warned. “Anyway- it’s been awhile since I’ve rode in Lola. She’s kinda sexy.”

“Your gear is going in the trunk,” Phil said before Clint reached the car. “All of it. You are not scratching her because you want to check your arrows.”

Clint made a sound of disgust but complied. “You leaving me defenseless is a dick move, Phil. I feel exposed- like you are leading me into a trap. Worst handler ever.”

“The last words I would use to describe you without a physical weapon in your hands is defenseless,” Phil replied with a hint of a smile. “But please- if you want to be near your bow for the next four hours, I think there is room in Rumlow’s vehicle.”

“I would rather die a horrible, horrible death,” Clint sang, tossing his items into the trunk. Clint could work with just about anyone- he didn’t have to like them to work with them. But Rumlow was someone that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he was always more conscious of where he was standing than his targets. Clint avoided working with Rumlow’s team as much as possible and Coulson knew it.

He put down his bow slowly, carefully. He felt a scratch and his mind immediately when to Natalia. That scratch had came from the fight with the man with the metal arm. Clint still wasn’t sure who he was- he had checked S.H.I.E.L.D. databases, then got in trouble for hacking files ranked higher than his limit. But nothing was offered for who that man had been.

“Clint.” Clint looked up, not realizing how long he had been still. “You okay?”

“Yeah, no, I’m good, Coulson,” Clint said, putting his bow down before closing the trunk. He ran a hand over Lola before stuffing himself in. “I forgot how small and tight you were, girl.”

“Please stop saying that every time you enter my car,” Phil requested.

“Sorry,” Clint muttered before he buckled in. 

Sitting was a problem- he was instantly tired. He wanted to be awake until they made it back to a safehouse or a base. He wanted to watch, observe, look for problems. He didn’t like the lack of control over the situation, especially right after a mission.

“Go to sleep, Hawkeye,” Phil said. “Take the hearing aids out. When was the last time you slept?” Clint wasn’t going to admit to that. Phil always yelled at him for not taking his hearing aids out and sleeping properly; Clint needed to start relying on his fellow agents more he would say. “You just got back from Maldives and you rushed to join this effort. Unless you take vacation time, I will ground you.”

“I’ll take vacation time,” Clint promised. “I will fill out forms when we get wherever, send them to Fury.”

“Glad we have an agreement,” Phil said. “You going to sleep?”

Clint was silent again for a moment before he looked at Phil. “Do you regret it?” he asked. Phil glanced his way then waited. Phil always did that- waited for Clint to form his thoughts, talk without being pressured. “You don’t get to work the same missions because you are my handler. Do you regret taking on the responsibility?”

“You are asking if I regret taking you under my care?” Phil clarified.

“Word it however you want, Phil, means the same in the end,” Clint replied.

“No.” Phil turned the music down. “Where is this coming from?” Clint looked out the window. That was not something he was willing to disclose- the dream he had while in Maldives. Talking about it meant getting the speech about the insecurities Clint had, and Clint hated that speech. Phil gave him until the song was over before he shifted his grip on the steering wheel. “I do not regret changing career paths to make sure you got a handler that worked for you. I still run missions when you are on ones you are more than capable of handling yourself. You are a brilliant agent, Clint, even if you don’t give yourself the credit. You are an incredible pain in my ass, in Fury’s ass, but most of the time you are worth the headache.”

Clint reached up and took his hearing aids out and held them out to Phil. He waited until they left his hands before he leaned his chair back. “Thank you,” Clint said, hopefully softly, as he closed his eyes.

The vibration, the low hum he could _almost_ hear- it was soothing. Phil being there was soothing. Three years ago this wouldn’t have been possible. Now- now Clint was tired and Clint knew someone was around that had his back unconditionally. And if that wasn’t the best feeling in the world, he didn’t know what was.


	12. Chapter 12

Clint dumped his bags on the apartment floor as if it wasn’t disgustingly dirty. However, he took in a deep breath, smelled the dusty air and he felt right at home. Bed-Stuy. Per his therapist, and about the only thing he agreed with, it was deemed that Clint shouldn’t stay on a base, that he should have time away. Something about needing a period of rest, away from the noise, a time to decompress. So Fury reluctantly agreed, though he did not agree with Clint’s choice.

The rent was cheap, and his neighbors were literally the best. They didn’t ask awkward questions, they accepted that he was gone just as much as he was around. Could Clint afford better? By far, yes. But this apartment had its charm, even if that included an elevator that didn’t work more than half the time. The only downside was the people who owned the building seemed to be the shady types, but that wasn’t something that Clint had to deal with too much yet; if the time _did_ come where he would have to get involved he’d have to do it under the radar so Fury didn’t find out.

Clint checked everything over. No one had been in, no one had been out. No windows were broken, nothing was out of place. Everything was functioning the same as when he had left two weeks ago. He completed the sweep twice more before he ordered pizza to be delivered. All he wanted to do was lay down, take a nap. But his apartment needed attention. The floors needed cleaned, the fridge had a funk that Clint was almost too scared to investigate. So Clint secured what limited gear he had brought back with him and got to work.

There was a knock and Clint wiped his brow. It was hard to believe pizza would be there so soon. He got up and grabbed the door before he smiled. She was new and she looked pissed. Clint’s smile faltered a little.

“You live in this unit?” she asked.

“I do occasionally live here,” Clint answered. “Clint.”

“Simone. Your apartment smells. You need to clean it before I complain to the landlord. Only reason I haven’t is because Gill said you are a spy working for the government.”

Clint’s smile picked right back up. No, Clint never told Gill what his job had been. But Gill loved conspiracies and Clint _was_ gone an awful lot. So when Gill asked him one day if that was his job, Clint only shrugged, feeding the fire.

“I am sorry, ma’am. I am actually in the process of deep cleaning it right now,” Clint replied. He held up his hands, covered in filth, along with the rag in his hand. “Sorry, Miss Simone. I will be more considerate next time.”

She looked a little shocked and the fire died down. “Honey, you look paler than a ghost. You need to get some sleep or some sun.”

“Agree on both fronts,” Clint replied. “Hey- what is today? Like- the date.”

“June seventeenth,” she replied.

“Sweet. Tomorrow is… Saturday, right?” he asked. Simone looked at him oddly before she nodded. “So tomorrow is the party on the roof, right?”

“Did you hit your head?” she asked suspiciously. “Or do you use drugs?”

Clint laughed and leaned against the door frame. “It would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?” Clint asked. “No, just… I’ll be going to the rooftop party. I’m thinking about going all out- bring a lot of things. Trying to decide the best way of letting people know I got it covered, that’s all. Guess I’ll have to go to Kinkos and print flyers or something. Oh hey! Pizza guy!”

“Did you know your elevator isn’t functioning?” the man asked.

“Weird- worked for me earlier,” Clint said, winking to Simone before he forked over money. “Bigger tip for climbing stairs. Thank you, pizza God.”

“You are one strange man,” Simone said slowly.

“You have no idea,” Clint replied. “Miss Simone- it was nice meeting you. I will see you tomorrow at the rooftop party.”

\----

“Clint!” Clint turned away from the edge, watching the city below and smiled. “You are back! It’s been over two weeks!”

The rooftop party was a hit. Clint scrambled but was able to order massive amounts of food last minute. Barbecue, pizzas, burgers- he had to pull it all from different places, spent way too much money, but it worked. He had to run about, collecting bags of chips in different flavors because it was beyond him what people liked. Cookies, cupcakes- probably too many desserts. The only thing his neighbors had to bring were their own drinks. 

“Yeah, I’m back, Gill,” Clint replied, clinking his glass against the older man’s. “Hey, thanks for talking Simone into not ratting me out. I didn’t realize I had left that much food in my fridge to spoil. It was a last minute thing.”

“It wasn’t a bother,” Gill answered. “I’m sure it’s hard when the FBI tells you when to jump.”

“FBI?” Clint asked playfully.

“No? Is it some secret underground? Are you a Russian spy?”

Clint couldn’t help but laugh at that, even if it hurt a little. His mind went to her when he thought of Russia. “I would make a terrible Russian spy,” he admitted. “Not pretty enough. German, maybe. I do have the stereotypical blond hair and blue eyes. Too bad my Midwestern accent refuses to leave.”

“You are starting to get a New York drawl mixed in,” Gill commented.

“Thank God for small miracles,” Clint said before he sat on the ledge. “Either way, thank you. I’m… kind of attached to this place. It feels like home.”

“You never said where you are from,” Gill said, sitting down.

“That’s because it’s not home and doesn’t matter,” Clint explained, picking at the label on his beer. “It’s nothing like here. Small town, everyone knows everyone and everything. It wasn’t my favorite place in the world. Big cities? Those I like.”

“Because you can blend in?” Gill hinted.

If he wasn’t so damn cute, Clint might have gotten annoyed at the digging into his personal life. But Gill- Gill was good people. He was harmless. All his neighbors were. Clint took a drink from his beer, finishing that bottle off before he stood.

“You know what I like most about big cities?” Clint asked. “We are all assholes just trying to make it through the day. We want nothing to do with each other. But the moment something goes down- we pull together. We fight for one another. That’s what I like about New York.” Clint walked over and grabbed another beer from a cooler before sitting back down. “ And if that doesn’t scream family, I don’t know what does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short, but I absolutely love Clint and his Bed-Stuy apartment. It's his little piece of heaven he never really thought he'd have and his escape from all things terrible. Might be run down but it's so quintessentially him that it's amazing.


	13. Chapter 13

“Ow, damn, okay,” Clint hissed, his back on the mat. He rubbed his face before he sat up. “Jesus, May. I just got back, stop kicking my ass.”

It was his first day back from vacation and he made the mistake of asking someone to spar. Someone he knew was going to put him through the ringer, ground him. And Clint didn’t mind- he didn’t care who won or lost in sparring matches. He just liked feeling like someone around S.H.I.E.L.D. would put up a fair fight, wasn’t afraid of him still. And if anyone could pull that off so effortlessly, it was May.

“Someone has to do the job.” 

Melinda May was Clint’s idol, and he freely told everyone that. She was smart, confident, and held more talent in her pinky than what Clint could ever hope to accomplish. She had been at S.H.I.E.L.D. for several years, Clint couldn’t remember how long exactly, but damn was she a beauty to watch while fighting, and an absolute nightmare to spar with. She never took it easy on anyone, always told it how it was. Clint loved her.

“You are getting lazy.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Clint groaned, getting to his feet. “Vacations will do that to a guy.” He wiped his forehead then grinned, tilting his head to the side. “Thank you. For agreeing to this. I know you are busy half the time.”

“I had some free time,” Melinda replied. “I heard of your mission in Maldives. I won’t lie, I am impressed.”

“You are going to make me blush, May,” Clint warned sheepishly. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Either way- good job,” Melinda said, unwrapping her hands. Clint followed suit after he got water. “Don’t look now- I believe Coulson is giving you eyes.”

“He just cannot resist my charm,” Clint whispered jokingly before he looked up. Coulson was standing at the viewing window then nodded. “Oooh, I got the head nod. I am getting laid tonight.”

The laughter that erupted from Melinda at the moment was sudden, unexpected and Clint fell into laughter with her. It was a rare thing and Clint was going to relish in it without telling a soul it had happened. No one would have believed him anyway- Malinda had a reputation.

“Barton-” Clint paused at the door and looked back. “I’m glad they recruited you. It would have been a waste of talent otherwise. Even if you shot me.” 

“You are never going to let me live that one down,” Clint commented before he ducked out of the room quickly. Too many compliments in a row coming from her and he was certain his ears were on fire, if not his cheeks. He didn’t know how to handle them.

“Sparring with May the moment you get back,” Coulson observed when Clint caught up.

“It’s been awhile. Don’t worry, she used me as a mop,” Clint assured him. “You have this serious scowl on your face. What did I do?”

“I am not scowling,” Phil replied.

“Fooled me.” 

They turned into the busiest part of S.H.I.E.L.D., the main hub where people came and went. Most were in various uniforms. Some in business profession, some heading out to missions in their gear. Clint’s eyes glanced down at the emblem on the ground as they passed it. He wondered just how many feet have touched it throughout the years and how it was still in pristine condition.

“Nice clothing choice, Barton,” a woman shouted out to him playfully.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Clint shot back with a smile.

“You could try wearing actual pants,” Coulson pointed out.

“Don’t tell me you hate the short shorts,” Clint said, faking a pout. “I wore them just for you.” Coulson didn’t take the bait, which was a little sad. 

Clint shifted the bag on his shoulders. Phil still had that scowl on his face, still looked anxious, pissed- complicated. Clint hated complicated. Complicated typically meant Clint was going deep mission again, gone for extended periods of time, and Coulson worried; Clint couldn’t help but feel maybe he worried Clint would defect and never come back. He knew Maria thought that; she had said it point blank eight months ago when Fury sent him on a solo mission.

Clint didn’t know what more he could do to seal the trust. It wasn’t like they didn’t trust him, they just didn’t when it came to solos. Except Fury- Fury never once voiced any concern about Clint leaving, defecting, going back to his old ways. Clint didn’t know when that trust had sealed up.

Phil opened the door to Nick’s personal office and Clint knew he was in for it. He walked in, the smile that once was plastered on his face gone and replaced with a blank stare. He took a seat with a word and waited. Phil didn’t sit with him, which was different. Normally Phil was right there, ready to throw in his two cents about whatever. Whatever this was about- Fury and Coulson had already talked.

“Agent Barton,” Nick greeted.

“Fury,” Clint replied, keeping his voice even.

Fury opened his drawer and pulled out some papers, or photos. “We need to know what you know about the Black Widow,” he said, laying down photos.

Clint stared at them, and he knew the color had drained from his face. Three photos. One was the first time they had met in Amsterdam. The second was one Clint didn’t even recognize, but she was there. He was fairly certain that photo was taken in Germany somewhere strictly by the architecture. And the third was when he infiltrated the HYDRA base and nearly got killed by metal arm. So far, nothing appeared about the Stark event in Ukraine, though he was sure that was coming.

“Barton.”

Clint looked up then leaned back. “She is a trained spy and assassin and damn good at what she does,” he answered. “She tried to kill me, thankfully the knife was removed before it got to an artery.”

“And the other times?” Fury asked.

“Wanna tell me how much you know?” Clint asked. Fury was silent and Clint already hated this.

“Agent Barton- this is information you should have disclosed to us,” Phil scolded.

Clint didn’t look at Phil, choosing to focus on Fury. Fury didn’t look away before his finger tapped on the photo. “How much of this is leaving this room?” Clint asked. Nick rose an eyebrow and Clint pulled a face. “Coulson have to be here for this?”

“What?” Phil asked.

“Yes.”

Clint sighed and leaned back. “First time I met her was Amsterdam at some Stark expo. Apparently she was supposed to kill me. I got lucky. Second time I had infiltrated a HYDRA base in Germany, she was there but for… whatever reason. Never found out. We had to work together to survive that one. There was someone else there.”

“This time?” Nick asked, holding up a photo.

“I don’t know that one,” Clint admitted. “It looks like Germany. But I don’t remember seeing her.”

“What else?” Fury asked.

“She was the one who ratted me out,” Clint admitted. “We worked together. Some Stark event but in Ukraine. I needed her help with something and she said if I helped with this event, she would consider helping with mine.”

“And what was yours?” Nick pressed.

Clint felt himself fidget in his seat. “Does it matter? I obviously didn’t get to accomplish it.”

“When have I asked a question that doesn’t matter?” Nick asked.

Clint considered lying, surely there was something dumb he could come up with. But he didn’t know why he was being protective of this information. It was more damning to Natalia than him. And she shouldn’t matter that much for him to be stalling.

“Have you heard of the Red Room?” Clint asked. Nick didn’t move and Clint picked up the photos. “They are in Russia I think. They… take young girls, and I mean young. And they turn them into people like The Black Widow. They train them to be spies, assassins, the best there are. Maybe more, maybe less. I don’t have all the details. But I know they at least do that much.”

He flipped to the next photo and his chest hurt. “I ran into one. She was probably eleven. I thought… I thought I could save her, I didn’t know what she was, who she had become. What molded her. That night I made a hard choice and killed a child.” He sat the photos down. “When I saw her, I saw the Black Widow. They had a lot of similarities. So my goal was to track down the Black Widow, team up if possible, and take down the Red Room. No more little girls being taken and turned into people they never dreamed of being.”

Clint looked up at Nick and felt his lips tug into a smile. “And she said no. She shot me with the night night gun, called you, and here I am.”

“There is too much history, Director,” Coulson said. 

Clint turned his attention to Phil and frowned before he looked back at Nick. Nick was glaring at Coulson and Clint chewed his lip for a minute, trying to think. “You want me to retrieve her?”

“I want you to eliminate her,” Nick corrected.

“You have agents more suitable than myself that could complete the task,” Clint pointed out. “Agents with higher clearances, been at the job longer. This is above my rank.”

“Then I’ll rank you up,” Nick said. “Is that what you want, Barton?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer not to go,” Clint answered. “The only reasons she shot me with the night night gun was because we had… an unsteady truce. She said it herself. The only reason neither of us died that night was because neither of us had the other as a target.”

“So if she were your target, you could pull the trigger?”

“I don’t think this is a smart-”

“I was a mercenary- I’ve learned to put my feelings aside when taking on a task,” Clint answered. He could feel the cold sinking under his skin already. “However, I don’t want to strictly be used for hit missions if I accomplish the task. I don’t enjoy killing, Nick. You know that. I want your word that if I go on this mission and come back alive, I won’t be type-cast in this company.”

“As his handler I am saying-” Phil spoke up.

“We have a deal, Agent Barton,” Nick said, standing. “How much time do you need to prepare? Because we’ve got a lead on where she is.”

“A day. I have loose ends to tie up here,” Clint answered, standing as well. Clint couldn’t look at Phil; he knew if he did he would want to back out. “Where am I heading?”

“Amsterdam, of all places,” Nick answered.

Clint snorted. “If that isn’t ironic, I don’t know what is.” He nodded his head and walked. He heard Phil say something but Nick cut him short. At least Nick was going to give Clint a head start.

\----------

“We need to talk.”

That was the phrase that always made Clint cringe. _We need to talk_. Clint looked up from the computer he was working at and observed Phil. He was beyond angry, his sleeves rolled him, that scowl deeply set. Clint knew he should have taken Phil’s side back there because Phil always had his.

“Did you know that I don’t speak a lick of Dutch?” Clint asked. “Not that it matters, most everyone speaks English. But… I do know how to ask to pet someone’s dog.”

“I am not amused by this.” Phil grabbed a chair and sat down. “When I am telling Director Fury no, it is in your best interest to listen to me and let me handle the situation. I know you, Clint. You don’t back down from a challenge, and Fury knows that too. That’s why-”

“You would be lying if you didn’t admit that a small part of you hates me going on solos because you are scared I will defect,” Clint interrupted, pulling Phil to a stop. “I see it, you know? When Nick sent me eight months ago to India, my first solo. You never said it, you wouldn’t dare. But it was written across your face. You don’t trust me when it comes to these situations. Neither does Maria, but at least she lets me know where I stand.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Phil replied calmly.

“No? Then what is it?”

“You don’t have enough regard for your own well being when you get deeply focused on a task,” Phil answered. “You push yourself to an edge. You go back to being that guy who builds the walls, becomes an asshole to protect yourself. You shut down. And until you learn to stop doing that, I am going to worry that you will take unnecessary risks and someday we get word you are dead.”

“I lived for years before S.H.I.E.L.D., Phil,” Clint said, turning back to his screen. “I can handle it.”

“Can you?” Phil asked. “Reconsider. Ask for someone to-”

“No. I am going alone,” Clint said firmly. “Nick trusts me with this. I would like if you did as well. And look- I am being mature,” Clint said, tearing out a few pages of paper from his notebook before he stood. “You’ve been on me about wills or whatever. Legal shit in case I die-”

“Clint-”

“-so I wrote it all down. Already set up an appointment with legal to get shit squared away,” Clint explained. “It’s pretty easy, when you don’t have a family, you know? No one can fight over my stuff. I mean, Barney, but who knows where he is and I would like to keep it that way for now.” Phil still didn’t look impressed, if anything he looked more upset Clint thought. “You get my super cool things. Nick gets my super cool dangerous things. Maria gets my clothes so she has something to remember me by, and all my money is being dumped into a few different charities.”

“...you did not write down that Maria gets your clothing,” Phil whispered in awe.

“Right down to my sweaty, barely washed tactical gear,” Clint answered with a grin. “Think of the pissed look on her face when she gets read that statement out loud. Because it will happen, Phil. I die- those exact words will be spoken to Maria and… god, I hope ghosts are real because I want to witness that.”

Phil stood up. “What are you really thinking about at this second?” he asked. “Just curious.”

“Pizza and coffee, maybe a beer,” Clint said. He glanced at the door and saw Maria nearby but didn’t acknowledge her. “I’m thinking about the gigantic hug you are giving me when I get back alive, unscatched, looking like a Roman god.”

“Even now you aren’t going to take this seriously,” Phil accused.

“Don’t worry, Phil. When have I ever let you down?”

Clint was happy to be away from Phil when they parted ways. Phil was still seething, and Clint didn’t know who had pissed the man off more- Fury or himself. Clint was going to say Fury though because there was no way in hell that Phil wasn’t used to Clint’s behavior by now. He saw Maria near legal and nodded his head in greeting. She had a critical look on her face before she sighed and put her hands on her hip.

“What was that?” Maria asked.

“Phil doesn’t need to worry more about me than what he is,” Clint answered. “He doesn’t need to know I am on edge about going back to Amsterdam and confronting an assassin. What good will that do? He’ll just go back to Fury.”

Maria looked surprised for a moment. “Were… you just being honest with me?” she asked.

“Shocking, right?” Clint asked. “Don’t tell him, Maria, alright? You three… you guys are the only family I’ve got. If he knows I am nervous, he’ll want to go with. He already wants to. And I’m not risking Coulson getting close to the Black Widow. She’ll end him before I can blink.”

“She’s that good?” Maria questioned.

“She’s… something.” Clint tapped the papers against the wall next to him before he smiled. “I need to turn these in. Think you can do it for me?”

“You have to sign papers, Clint. It’s not just a ‘here you go and do as I wish’ sort of thing,” Maria explained.

“Well… then I guess I better get a move on before legal yells at me for being late,” Clint said. He patted her shoulder. “I’ll see you when the mission is over, Agent Gorgeous.”

“Wait- what’s your extraction plan?” Maria asked.

Clint slipped by her and grinned. “Don’t have one. Now you can go yell at Fury too.”


	14. Chapter 14

Clint would be lying if he said he hated Amsterdam. It felt good to be back among the people, the energy, his favorite beers. He stopped by a few of the places he had been the last time he visited this city, ate way too much food, but it was worth it.

He wished it was winter so he could hide his bow and arrows; he wished he had his bow and arrows on him as he walked down the street. At least he would have felt more grounded, safer. But in the warmer summer months, Amsterdam was nothing short of beautiful.

Clint had checked the references to his target a few times over. They all seemed to add up, line up, but none of it matched her pattern. It was too predictable which was unsettling. The only time Clint had ever kept a predictable pattern was when he was trying to draw her out; he was hoping she wasn’t taking a page out of his book, turning the tables. If she was calling him out, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why.

Clint found the IAMSTERDAM sign and turned, snapping a photo of himself with it and the tourists behind him. With a smirk, he sent the photo to Phil before he turned his phone off. Every three days he was supposed to reach other, let people know he was okay. It wasn’t per Fury’s request, but from Hill and Coulson. As long as he wasn't in too deep, Clint promised he would.

Now was the tough part- calling her out. He knew how to achieve that last time; be obvious as hell. However, he didn’t know what crowd she ran with now, who would know her. He’d have to track down HYDRA or AIM, maybe some Russians if he could find them. But it wasn’t going to be easy as it was in Ukraine. Additionally, he had rules he had to follow now per S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols. And while Clint wasn’t above ignoring certain rules, he also knew where the line was drawn. Outing himself in public was a no go.

This was going to be a painfully slow process.

\------

Two weeks in and Clint was bored. He searched every lead he could, but everything was coming up dry. He even traveled for one lead, headed to Belgium. He was beginning to think that someone was toying with him, someone was drawing him out, and it wasn’t a good feeling. He knew in certain crowds he was known, and that made things a little more dangerous while overseas. Combine that with having to take down an assassin? The odds weren’t exactly in his favor much of the time.

The only lead he didn’t follow was one from Germany. He remembered the town nearby that HYDRA base, he could still feel the metal hand on his shoulder, threatening to rip everything apart. He was not going to draw that attention back to him. One assassin was more than enough. So he shied away from Germany.

He also wasn’t willing to head to Russia either. The rules there were difficult to understand, S.H.I.E.L.D. activity was severely limited in scope, and he would be toeing the line too much for comfort. Not only that, but Clint was sure that she wouldn’t be there.

Clint found himself down at a bar not too far away from the Red Light district on a rainy night. He was watching some soccer match, just as enthralled by it as the rest of the bar. He loved the energy, the excitement. No matter how focused on the game he appeared, he still noticed when his drink had moved. He tried to not react, tried to continue watching the game. By the time he looked down, the glass was in the same spot he had left it originally.

“Hello.”

Clint looked over and smiled at a younger woman. “Hey,” he replied, turning his seat to look at her. “Football fan?” he asked.

“You call it football?” she asked.

“When in Rome, you do as the Romans do.”

He tried to get a good read on her. She was pretty, not quite his age but close enough. Her eyes weren’t filled with hatred. _Not from the Red Room- or she is that good._

“Hey, you play darts?” she asked. “It’s… open.”

“I’m the best at it,” Clint answered. “Shall we? Let me grab an additional drink, just in case this takes awhile.” 

He picked up his glass and ordered another drink. She was watching too closely, not at all hiding her interest. It was going to be hard to switch their drinks, or safely get rid of his old drink. Clint wasn’t exactly sure how to handle the situation at hand without drawing too much attention, which was infuriating.

_Do not cause a scene. Try to relax into this. Do not drink it. Have to think of something._ Clint walked with his two glasses to the area the darts were set up. He could wait, be patient. It took a few games, but his patience paid off. She had become distracted by something or someone by the door. Clint poured his laced drink into her glass before evening out his other drinks, switching their spots. 

“How long as you in town?” she asked.

“Another week,” Clint answered. “Business trip. Pretty boring, really. Not this bar though- I will miss it.” He watched her take a sip from her glass then pull a face. “Oh… does it taste a little like whiskey?” he asked.

Her eyes widened and she raised her hand, holding up a finger. Clint frowned then looked around. Yep- caught, but he didn’t know by who. Clint backed away from her, needing to take whatever this was outside. Away from people- no one needed to get hurt. He nearly made it out the back before he heard gunshots. People screaming, chaos. His ears were ringing. He needed cover and it needed to be outside.

Clint found the backdoor and swung it open, turning and pressing his body against the wall. He took a deep breath and pulled out his gun. The door flew open and Clint saw two men run out. He caught a glimpse of their guns and shot at their ankles. One- two, down. _The ringing needs to stop._ He couldn’t think with his ears ringing like they were. He walked over and kicked guns away, looking down. One grabbed his leg and pulled him down. Clint sat up and shot him first, then his friend. 

He got up and ran back inside, people were moving away. There were sirens coming towards them as Clint made his way out of the building. Clint barely saw the woman as she turned down a street. He pushed his way through the crowds and followed, seeing her again. He just wanted his bow, a few putty arrows. He felt like he was slipping back into old him, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Clint shot the ground just past her and she jumped and turned.

“Who do you work for?” he asked as he approached.

“Th-they paid me to,” she said, trembling.

“Who are they?” Clint asked with a growl. He caught her arm before she could walk and walked her backwards to a wall. She wasn’t fighting, she was terrified. She wasn’t one of them. “Who are they?”

“I don’t know them but they know of you,” she answered, tears streaming down her face. “I’m not lying, please-”

“They work in the city? They got a house here?” he asked. She didn’t answer and Clint gave her a shake.

“Yes, yes- I can show you,” she replied.

“Put the gun down.”

Clint looked back and saw an officer, his gun raised. Clint held his hand up then put the gun away before grabbing his badge. “Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Clint said calmly. “I’ve got papers and everything. I am conducting an investigation.” 

The officer walked over and looked at the badge before he lowered his gun. He reached forward and Clint grabbed his arm, using the surprise to flip him. He let go then grabbed the night-night gun, shooting a single shock and the woman screamed. Clint picked his badge up and put his weapon away.

“Whats your name?” he asked.

“Anna.”

“Anna, good,” Clint replied. “You are coming with me. We need to pick something up, then we will be going to where these people work. You so much as flinch wrong, and you get the real gun, not the tranq. Do we have an agreement?” She nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. “Alright, let’s go. He’ll be fine. Just taking a nap on the job.”

Clint was going to be in a world of trouble for that stunt. But officers meant questioning, questioning meant paperwork, and Clint didn’t have the time. Whoever was now after him, knowing he was in town and this was only going to escalate.

“Anna?” Clint asked, catching her attention. “I do work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I wasn’t lying. You aren’t going to be hurt- I just need the help. I am sorry you got caught up in this.” She didn’t believe him, but Clint didn’t need her to. He mostly needed to say it to keep reminding himself of that fact.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a short segment towards the bottom with implied rape. So sorry.

It was an odd sensation, slipping into a personality you remembered but never thought you’d have to touch again. It felt like an old, familiar coat that smelled like dust; too many memories and almost too comfortable. But then you remember why you never wore it- it made you look and feel terrible.

Clint had the woman from the bar show him to the location where his new friends were. It was near the waterway which made sense- easier to dump a body or escape by boat. Clint wasn’t familiar with this part of Amsterdam, and he knew he was straight up walking into a trap. So Clint used his grappling hook and figured he’d find a way in that wasn’t the front door.

This would be easier if at least knew who the people were. He hadn’t heard enough from the other three before killing them to know a nationality. And the woman was too terrified to be useful. Clint checked the roof before taking a few timid steps. Solid- couldn’t hear a noise. There wasn’t an entrance from the top, which meant he was going to have to rappel down the side to a window and hope there was a sturdy second story.

_Don’t do anything reckless. If you cannot handle the situation, you call for backup. There is no shame in it._ That’s what Phil would have told him. But this was off course, had nothing to do with his mission; it was personal. And Clint wasn’t one to call for help from people he didn’t know, that required too much trust. He was going to have to handle it like he would have four years ago- alone.

Clint laid on his stomach and tried to look over the edge to look in windows. He could tell there were three stories, but that didn’t tell him where it was safe to land. He took a deep breath and looked up before he got to work. 

He set up the rope and secured it, pulled on it. If he fell- well, at least then he wouldn’t have to see Phil’s unhappy face at his normal antics. There were a lot of variables at play that gave Clint pause. The secure rope could slip, he could slip, he could be spotted- the possibilities were endless and hard to push out of his mind. He took one more deep breath before he carefully scaled down the building, trying to stay on the side of the window so no one would easily see him. It was slow, his arms were aching by the time he got to a second story window, no lights on. 

He tested the window with his foot, and it rattled. It could work. He leaned to the side and got his feet on the windowsill, trying to keep his balance as he bent down and slowly opened the window. He let go of his breath in a quiet, huffed laugh.

The smell hit him first and he choked back a gag. The room was empty minus a few boxes. He took a few steps inside before he pulled out his bow and nocked an arrow. He blinked a few times, letting his eyes adjust before he crept forward. He refused to touch a box, even if his curiosity was killing him. 

He made it to the door and leaned in. He heard faint chatter, some gruff laughing. Clint leaned down and touched the floor. Nothing was vibrating which meant no machinery was on. He straightened and lowered his bow to his side, touching the door handle. Nothing hot. Clint turned the handle slowly and pulled on the door as quickly as he could, trying to minimize whatever creak it would give. Nothing.

Clint looked down the hall before he heard moaning and froze. He looked in the direction he heard it echo from before he headed that way first. He paused when he heard shuffling and checked his surroundings before opening the door. _Found the smell_ he thought as it hit him again. Beds, some with people in it, IV drips on bruises up arm. Human traffickers. The moment someone saw him the pleading started and he had to shut the door. _Shit. Shit, shit, this is my luck._

Clint heard more talking downstairs and looked at the stairs. He made his way over and traded his arrow out for a putty one, nocking the new one. He was only going to have the element of surprise for a limited time- maybe ten seconds, twenty if he was lucky. 

Clint couldn’t tell you how much time passed from the top step to the bottom, but he knew it was three breaths. He lost count of the seconds between shots, but he knew he let loose two putty arrows and a standard before anyone could get close to him. He couldn’t say how many people were there, but he was aware that two had gotten close enough to land two good hits. He lost track of time but he knew he had a break at that moment and needed to find cover.

His head was killing him and he reached up- yep, cut. Great. His side wasn’t feeling the best but he was positive that it was only bruised. He turned his phone on while he had the chance, switching out his bow for a gun. He held his phone up and walked down the hall.

“_Clint,_” Phil greeted. 

“Need you to pick up my GPS signal and send backup,” Clint said. He saw someone leave the room near him, zipping his pants. Clint raises his gun and shot him.

“_What is your status?_”

“Can we maybe discuss that later and skip to the part where you send me some help?” Clint asked, kicking the man over to his back. “Human trafficking ring. Long story.” Clint pushed open the door where the man had come from. “I need to leave before more people come at me. But there are people who need help. The sooner the better.”

“_Barton, I think-_“

Clint didn’t hear Phil, not after her was the red hair. He was certain the woman was nothing but bruises, saw blood but it was dried. She didn’t have any clothing on and-

“Have to go.”

Clint ended the call and put his phone away. He stepped closer and turned the woman’s face. “Fucking hell, Nat,” he whispered. He had hoped he was wrong. 

He had to swallow back his anger and looked around before shrugging off his shirt and pulled her up. It wouldn’t cover too much of her, but it was going to have to do. He heard the door and didn’t bother looking up, pulling his gun and shooting whoever it was. It was too soon for any S.H.I.E.L.D., so he figured he was safe.

“Okay- wakey wakey,” Clint said, giving her a few little shakes. When she didn’t react, he tapped her face a few times. “Come on- you can’t do this to me,” he muttered. “I don’t know the area- I don’t have a car nearby. You need to walk.”

_Your mission is to kill her, Barton. She’s unconscious, drugged to the heavens. She wouldn’t feel it. Now is the best time- get done with it._ He felt a chill settle through his spine and he closed his eyes and leaned over her.

He picked her up off the table and heard a faint whimper, her head turning to press against his chest. He tried to shift her, tried to get a good handle on his gun, but he was getting tired, his brain still working in overdrive. Worse yet, if Phil followed through with Clint’s pleas, agents should be getting there at any time. Or the police. He didn’t have the time to waste to contemplate it anymore, so he walked and hoped for the best.


	16. Chapter 16

Clint was so tired but he forced himself to stay awake. Twice she had stopped breathing, just for a few seconds before her body heaved and forced itself to pick itself back up. It was terrifying. He had never seen anything like it- he didn’t care to see anything like it again. The past twelve hours she had held steady, but Clint wasn’t sure if he should trust that.

He was sitting with his back against the wall, his legs pulled up, his weapons across the room. That little voice in the back of his mind was becoming less of a whisper and a demand to follow through. Phil, Nick, Maria- they were his family. He owed them so much more than what he thought he could ever give. Natalia- she was nothing more than someone who seemed to remind him of the worst of himself; like Clint but ten times worse, ten times more fucked over than he had been. Somehow, that made him want to cling to her more, and his brain couldn’t make sense as to why it was so damn important to him.

His hands were shaking and he couldn’t figure out why. Exhaustion was the most likely reason. Things were hurting but he didn’t know why; he had taken care of everything he had thought. Maybe pain was making him shake- or shock? Was it shock? 

He pulled out his phone and turned it back on, waiting. Nearly a dozen missed calls. Nick, Phil, even Hill. Clint pressed a button and closed his eyes, his world swimming a little.

“_Where the hell are you? Why was your phone turned off?_” Clint never thought Phil’s angry voice would be comforting but it was. He could feel his lips tugging up. “_Barton._”

“I’m... out of Amsterdam,” Clint answered. “They- there was a gunfight at a bar. Someone had a hit on me. Same people who were running that ring tried to carry it out.”

“_You need to go to the closest safe house for extraction. I cannot find your GPS._”

“That’s because I turned it off,” Clint answered. “Can’t be tracked- sorry Phil. I might have... screwed this up a little.” He hung his head. “Guess three years didn’t make people forget me that easily. I’m going to lay low. I found where she is. I have a solid lead. I know her next attack.”

“_Someone else can handle it._”

“I came this far, Phil. I can do this,” Clint assured him. “It’s in a week. I will lay low for a week and... and I’ll find her and take her out.”

There was silence and it made Clint squirm. Maybe he didn’t sound strong or convincing enough. “_What are you leaving out?_” Phil finally asked.

“I haven’t slept much since the warehouse,” Clint admitted. “I uh- got a cut above my eye. Pretty sure that’ll scar. My ribs hurt but it’s a bruise, nothing broke. And I... I guess it’s good to hear your voice. I’m just tired, but I put enough distance now- I think I’m secure.”

“_Fury is here, you are on speaker now_,” Phil alerted him. Clint opened his eyes and looked at his hand that was still trembling.

“_What in the hell were you thinking?_”

“I missed you too,” Clint muttered. “I told Phil- I got her pinned. I know where she is going to be, her attack. In one week. I’m laying low until then. And I’m fine.” Part of him hopes if he said it enough, he could convince himself of that.

“_You sure you have this under control?_” Nick asked.

Clint looked up at Natalia, watched her as she slept peacefully. The pain that had marked her face was gone. “Yeah- I have this under control,” he lied. “Permission to hang up and sleep?” he asked. “Because... because I could really use the sleep.”

“_Call us when you wake- let us know you are alive,_” Nick instructed.

“You got it,” Clint said as he hung up the phone, turning it back off.

He was so out of control of the situation. He let out a shaky breath and made it to his feet slowly. He pulled his hearing aids out and settled them on a box as he collected a blanket and a pillow and tucked himself back into a corner. If someone was going to come and kill him, or both of them, at least he wouldn’t have to hear it.

Clint woke with a jerk and gasp, swearing as he laid back. It was a nightmare, something that becoming a bit more frequent. He was sure it was the stress- he didn’t have them when he was calm it seemed. Clint buried his face into the pillow, wondering if he could just suffocate himself and get it over with. He sat up and looked at the bed before he flinched. She was awake, her eyes were on him and she looked pissed. Her mouth was moving but he was still groggy and couldn’t make out her words.

“Can’t hear you- don’t have my ears in. Just... give me a second.” That didn’t seem to make her any happier but she was secured to the bed so there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Clint got up, stretching and feeling the small pops and creaks as he went. He picked up his hearing aids and put them in carefully. He turned around and looked at her, waiting.

“Kill me.” That was not what Clint was expecting to come out of her mouth first. “I know they want me gone- they sent agents before you. I know I am your mission. Kill me.”

This was news- Clint hadn’t been told that bit of information. He shook his head. “I’m... I’m not killing you.” That voice was gone now that he had slept and his mind was a little less foggy from the adrenaline.

“They will find you and lock you up,” Natalia hissed. “You won’t get to just walk away.” Clint was silent on the matter since he couldn’t really argue that logic. “I used you. I was never going to help you with whatever little proposal you were going to offer up.”

“Kinda figured that one out,” Clint said.

“I should have killed you that night,” Natalia growled.

“I’m still not going to kill you,” Clint said softly.

“And this is why I said you couldn’t take on the Red Room. You are soft, weak, a mess,” she snapped. “You are just an idiot who thinks he can save the world.” Clint waited it out, tried not to let any of the words sink in, even if some of them were true. There was more that she said, lots of angry words flying, whatever to draw out his anger. Clint leaned against the wall near her and waited out the storm. It took several minutes before she finished, breathing heavily and watching him.

“Most of what you said? It’s true,” he commented. “I’m… weak. I’m an idiot who thinks maybe he can make this place a little less shitty. Whatever you said in Russian- probably true too.” He walked over and started to uncuff her from the bed. “Still not going to kill you.”

“I’ll kill you then,” she said, sitting up too fast, the pain flashing through her eyes.

“Take your time doing,” Clint said, pushing her back down by her shoulders. “Don’t have to be in a rush.” He took a few steps back before he headed to the bathroom. “All the guns here are real- no night night guns. So I mean- if you shoot me, you better mean it. No going back.”

_This is crazy. Restrain her. The voice decided to come back and it wasn’t wrong. She is still recovering- faster than what you thought but recovering. You could still-_ He took a shaky breath and leaned forward, his hand bracing himself. He needed coffee and food. He hadn’t ate in over twenty-four hours, he was too scared to leave. He needed a plan. He couldn’t restrain her again- that was a huge oversight on his end of things.

Clint washed his hands before he ventured back out, moving slowly, carefully, waiting for the shoe to drop. He hadn’t heard her move from the bed, but now she was in a pair of his sweatpants with his shirt. She looked up at him when he was back in the room, the anger gone.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Is it because I slept with you?”

“Give me some credit- I’m not that stupid,” Clint answered. “Sleeping together doesn’t make us a thing.”

“Then why?” Natalia asked.

“I’m trying to figure that out,” Clint responded as he grabbed a shirt and pulled it on. “It’s.. complicated. I don’t know how to say it, the words make no sense.” He stuffed his feet into his boots and laced them while he was standing, bent over and struggling. “I have to go to a store. I need coffee, we need food. You need clothing. What size are you?”

He stood up and looked at her, waiting. She looked almost playful, a smirk on her lips. “You are going to buy me clothing?” she asked. “And you think I will be here when you get back?”

“You have no where left to go,” Clint guessed and the smirk was gone. “You are in too deep just like I am currently. You… need me.”

“I do not need you,” Natalia hissed.

“Word it however you want, the words mean the same in the end,” Clint said, grabbing his keys, his wallet. “You should rest. Drug should be out of your system but you are still slow, in pain from all that. Try a shower? We’ll talk when I get back.”

“Tea.”

“What?” Clint asked, his hand on the door.

“I drink tea.”

Clint lowered his hand and looked back at her. “Like… what kind of tea? There’s a lot of teas. And don’t make this some super complicated order here. I’ll forget it. Just going to be honest.”

“Oh, because your coffee isn’t complicated,” she quipped.

“Black as my soul,” Clint replied dryly. “Tea. Come on.”

“Chamomile. Maybe ginger,” Natalia replied.

“Easy then,” Clint said. “I’ll be back, Natalia.”

“Nat.” Clint paused again. “You called me it once. I like it.”

“Okay, I am leaving now because you are starting to confuse me,” Clint commented slowly, not processing what was exactly going on. “You are flip flopping emotions and I… I need the coffee to think. A lot of coffee to think. Shower. You’ll feel better.”

As soon as he was away from Natalia- Nat, Clint felt himself relax. He pulled out his phone to call Nick when he got into the car. He still didn’t have a solid plan here, but he knew what he was going to have to do.

“_Going to admit to me yet what is going on, Agent Barton?_” Nick asked.

“You said to call, know that I am alive. I’m alive. How is Coulson handling things?” Clint asked. He had to ignore Nick’s question. The man had this way of bringing out information from Clint and he wasn’t prepared for that.

“_I stopped him from hopping board a plane to Amsterdam,_” Nick answered. “_I hope you know what you are doing, Barton. I didn’t send you over there to get killed._”

That shouldn’t have been funny but it was. Clint laughed and leaned to the side. “I’m figuring it out, Nick. I’ve got it handled. One week. Then I’ll be back to being your favorite pain in the ass but stateside.”

“_You would tell us if something was going wrong, Agent Barton, wouldn’t you?_”

Clint smiled a little more at that. Nick was good. “Never sir. Have you assholes worrying about me? Taking me out of missions? Placing me on a team instead of trusting me with solos? Nope, never going to happen.”

“_One week, then we will send people._”

It was hard not to take that as a threat. Clint knew what happened to agents that defected, he had caught a few of them himself. Not that Clint was defecting. He just wasn’t following through with orders the way they were presented to him; but being secretive always came with a price Clint was learning.

“One week. See you then.”

Three hours out of that cabin and Clint was stuck outside, watching it, considering his next step. She could be in there, waiting with a gun nearby, ready to kill him the moment he stepped in. Three hours and she could be gone, and he would have to start the process all over again. Three hours was a lot of time to set up a dozen little variables that left Clint sitting in the damn car like an idiot for twenty minutes, both of their drinks getting cold.

Clint picked up the carrier with the drinks, two coffees and two teas and he got out of the car. He balanced it on his arm before grabbing the bag of food and stalking towards the cabin. His fingers ached, wanting to hold a weapon in order to achieve some sense of security, but he wasn’t going to walk in with a gun drawn. He had an assassin to think about and that would have been a threat taken instantly. No, he had to play this smarter than that.

Clint opened the door and frowned. The shower was still running. He settled the drinks and food on the counter and walked to the bathroom. He tapped on the door lightly. “Nat?” he called in. When he got no response he opened the door. No steam- the water had to be cold.

He angled through the door and felt his heart leap into his throat. She was on the ground of the shower, sitting and holding her head, her eyes fixated somewhere in front of her. “Nat,” he said again, hoping not to startle her. She looked so small, almost fragile, holding herself together. He took a few steps in and turned the water off first before he grabbed a towel. She was shivering and when her eyes looked up, his heart broke.

“Just get it over with,” she whispered. “Kill me like they asked. You would be… a legend. The man who killed the world’s most deadly assassin.” She was breaking as she looked back down.

Clint bent down and wrapped the towel around her carefully before he grabbed another one. He pushed her shoulders forward and her head down before he wrapped the towel around her head, tucking her hair in before making her sit back up. He ignored the tears in her eyes as he pulled her up to her feet, wrapping the towel around her better to give her some privacy and helped her step out of the shower. 

He tried not to think too hard about anything, just went through the motions as he made her walk out of the bathroom and sit in a chair. He shoved a cup of tea in her hands, thankfully still a little warm and lifted it up so she would drink it. Satisfied, he grabbed a blanket and tucked it around her neatly before he touched her forehead, her cheeks, her neck- she wasn’t running a fever from what he could tell, her pulse seemed strong.

It was a half hour before the shivering stopped. Clint had finished one of his coffees and was onto his second, slowly eating a sandwich as he watched her. When he was done he pulled out a container of fruit and knelt down in front of Nat, settling it on her lap.

“You deserve better,” he told her firmly. “All this chaotic shit you were brought up around? You deserve a second chance, a better life. It won’t be easy, it’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, but I promise you it will be worth it.”

“And if you are wrong?” Nat asked.

“Then… we will deal with that too. Together. Because until you realize you are worth it, you are stuck with me.” Nat looked confused and searched his eyes. “You know how incredibly pissed I was when you tranqed me and ratted me out to S.H.I.E.L.D.? he asked gently. “But… you did the best thing for me. I found… I found a home. I found a family. And after all the shit you have been through, you deserve the same chance.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. wants me dead,” she whispered.

“I’ll make them change their minds,” Clint said before standing. He kissed her forehead. “Eat the fruit, drink the tea, then go to bed. You are emotionally not ready for any other talking today. Tomorrow? We will figure it out.”

“How are you not scared that I could try to kill you?”

Clint chuckled as he walked to the bed, grabbing a pillow before he took up his spot on the ground. “Nat, I am terrified that you’ll kill me. I’m terrified I am making a mistake. But it doesn’t feel like a mistake and it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’m taking my aids out- if you do kill me, make it a good one, yeah? No dying in agony.”

He took his hearing aids out before he got comfortable and closed his eyes.

Clint reminded himself not to react, which was very much against his instincts. He felt the weight on his legs, felt something on his chest. _Do not react- that is how this ends._ He opened his eyes and looked into the green ones piercing through him. They finally looked right; sharp, no tears, the walls and that fire. He glanced down at the gun before he looked back up.

“Am I allowed to put my hearing aids in or are you going to shoot me?” he asked. She shrugged. “Thanks for the choice,” he added, his hand patting the ground before it landed on what he was looking for. He glanced down and shuffled them in his hands before looping them over his ears.

“You have absolutely no self-preservation,” Nat mentioned, not moving an inch.

“Funny, Phil tells me the same exact thing,” Clint mumbled. He tilted his head to the side. “Still about this then?” he asked. “Still trying to decide if you are going to kill me or not? Because obviously you didn’t call S.H.I.E.L.D. on me again, Natalia.”

“Natasha. I hate Natalia.”

“And I hate waking up with a gun to my chest but here we are,” Clint replied. He raised his hand and put it against the barrel and pushed it away slowly, feeling the resistance at first before it moved. “You aren’t going to kill me.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Natasha said.

“You would have done it by now.” He felt like he could breathe properly again when the gun was pointed away from his body. “I have six days to figure out a plan before they send people after me… after us. Failure isn’t exactly an option here, Natasha. They will know I found you and let you live. I won’t get a third chance.”

“Then why are you stalling?” Natasha asked.

Clint closed his eyes and tapped the back of his head against the wall. “You sound like my therapist. I hate her.”

“You, and I quote this, fucking hate me,” Natasha mused.

Clint grinned and opened his eyes back up. “Aww, feelings, Nat.” Her nose scrunched at the words. “I already said I’m not good with the words.”

“Try.” 

She was moving the gun again and Clint pushed her hand back, a little too frantically, his instincts kicking in. He pulled his hand away sharply from her and felt himself pulling back and away. His brain couldn’t decide which action was the best and Clint felt trapped.

“You… you gotta… you are making me screw this up. Move.” She didn’t make a move and he bucked his hips up. “Let me up before this turns messy. I need… fidget.”

“What?” Natasha asked.

Clint groaned and scrubbed his face. “I need something to fidget with. You are making my brain go crazy, I can’t think. Let me up.” 

He was surprised when she moved and he was on his feet in a second, marching to his quiver and grabbing an arrow. It probably wasn’t the smartest choice but he needed to feel secure. He didn’t even care if the gun was now aimed on him again- he had something to do with his hands. He watched her and twirled the stupid thing before he took a deep breath.

“You are like me but about fifty times worse,” Clint said. “You’ve been through shit. I’ve been through shit, just not as bad. And… I can’t kill you. You weren’t in control. I won’t kill you. I’ve… I’ve killed enough people this week to last me. You deserve better like I deserved better.”

“We don’t deserve anything,” Natasha insisted.

“I used to think that too,” Clint replied. “I used to think I wasn’t worth more than what I had created for myself. And it was a shit existence. I was miserable more times than not. Anytime I thought I could pull myself back from it, I slid right back into something that was familiar.” He sat down next to her, his eyes on the tip of his arrow. “I think you are where I was three years ago. I want to help.”

“You are crazy,” Natasha muttered before she put the gun down. “So whats your plan?”

“You are some super human, aren’t you?” he asked. Natasha hesitated before she shrugged. “How much longer until you are back up for a fight.”

“Clint-”

“We take down the Red Room-”

“Clint-’

“-and then we find a way for you to join S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Clint said, ignoring the increasing frustration.

Natasha’s eyes were narrowed. “Why does the Red Room mean so much to you?”

“Because I’m an idiot blond who wants to save the world,” Clint said with a grin. He leaned over and tapped her nose with the tip of his arrow. “Because until they are gone- you won’t be able to move on. You can’t do it alone- I can’t do it alone. But I’ve got a feeling that if we tried to do it together, we’d make a statement.”

“How do you propose we get there?” Natasha asked. “You have six days.”

“Hopefully you have enough fake IDs to fly. I have clearance to go wherever I want to go. I have rules to follow… but I can still cross borders.”

“You following rules means you should-”

“If you say kill me one more time I am going to shoot a putty arrow in your mouth,” Clint warned. “And they do not taste good.” Clint got up and put his arrow away. “I know this is asking a lot. We don’t really know each other but… we both kinda need this win, Nat.” He sat on top of the counter and smiled back at her. “Want to do a big dumb with me and try not to get killed?”

Natasha was silent as she seemed to turn the events over in her head. Clint waited- he had learned to be patient, a skill Phil succeeded at much better than Clint ever could achieve. She seemed to come to a conclusion because she got up and strolled across the cabin to him, her hands on either side of his hips and leaning in.

“You kiss me and I will stab you.” Clint rose an eyebrow when Natasha stopped. “Using your body? Your sexuality on me? Not going to work.”

“No?” Natasha asked, her hands touching his knees before she ran her hands up his thighs. “You seemed to enjoy it last time.”

“I am blaming that on having to tackling a rich guy then having to run before I got shot,” Clint answered. “And honestly? The thing with the tie… never was into bondage before but damn. Convinced.” Natasha was puzzled for a moment before she narrowed her eyes when his hands wrapped around her wrists, pushing her hands away. “Still not going to sleep with you again though.”

“If we do this idiotic idea of yours, I am leading,” Natasha said firmly. “You will listen to me and follow through.”

“So… that’s a yes then?” Clint asked. Natasha hesitated before she gave a small nod. Clint let go of her wrists. “We fly out tonight?”

“You are pushing it here,” Natasha warned.

“We kinda have a time limit,” Clint answered, teetering his hand. “Push the times, or jail for me. And let me tell you, S.H.I.E.L.D. prison system? Not exactly fun.”

Natasha crossed her arms and walked around the kitchen. “Anything I should know before we do this?” she asked.

Clint considered it, really had to think. He climbed down from the counter and stretched. “I’ve got nothing. I work better under pressure. So- fill me in. Red Room. Go.”

For a moment Clint was positive she was going to slug him, or refuse again, maybe just run. For a moment there was hesitation as she seemed to consider her words. But then she sat down and crossed her legs and laid out a very detailed organizational structure, from who was who, to the different positions in the organization. And it sounded like they were attacking the heart of the organization. Clint soaked it all in, from the names to her exact plans before he bought their plane tickets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was going to be two chapters because of how long it is, but then it felt wrong so... long chapter is long? I hope you enjoy! =)


	17. Chapter 17

It didn’t look like much from the outside. A bit of a sprawling building but not a mansion by any means. It was painted brown, dark and looming; it went well with the creepy vibe from the gates, the nearby trees, and the absolute quiet.

“Don’t forgot- they look like young girls but-”

“If you say it again, I am going to freeze,” Clint whispered. “I know what to expect, Nat. Girls that can kick ass. Can’t… rehab. I get it, alright? Stop singing me the same song. What is the plan?”

Clint hated sounding upset with her but his nerves were already building. It didn’t help that she looked so calm and collected when he knew she wasn’t. If she would just let that facade slip just enough for him to get a real feel again from her, maybe they could share the nerves. He knew it would never happen but- he could wish. Anyway, if everything was the same, the building was going to be more occupied by adults in the organization currently, which was a bonus for Clint because that’s who he was most interested in. He didn’t buy the whole “can’t be rehabbed” spiel, mostly because he didn’t want to accept that it may be true.

“Go in and kill them all, release records,” Natasha said. “Make sure a place like this never stands again.”

“Simple then,” Clint said slowly.

“You hate killing, this won’t be simple,” Natasha said. It wasn’t a dig, just a comment from something Clint must have said at one point. He had a lot of things lately he couldn’t remember telling her. “You are getting a cold.”

“No one gets a cold in the summertime, Nat,” Clint answered before he grabbed an arrow. “I can handle it. I’ve got this. They aren’t… good people inside.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “We can turn back and-”

“See this through,” Clint muttered. “Stop stalling, Natasha. We have a flight to catch tomorrow.” Her hand disappeared and Clint took a deep breath. “We can talk after this part. It can be like a…”

“Debrief.”

Clint nodded his head to the side. “Sure. Debrief.”

“I’ll go through the front, you take the top and work down. The girls should be in the basement of the schedule is the same,” Natasha explained. “That means you mostly get the adults, which could be challenging. Either way- try not to die, you stupid blond.”

Clint snorted at the comment. “I saved your ass this last time. Maybe I’m looking for equal treatment.” He pulled out a grappling arrow. “I’ll work my way down to you.”

Splitting up, Clint checked around the house for a spot he could use for entry. Either way he was looking at it, he would be causing some noise- he was going to have to break a window, which wasn’t anywhere close to ideal. 

He heard it just a little too late to process it fully. Just the slightly rustle behind him before he felt a sharp blow to the side. Clint gasped and stumbled away before ducking and backing up. He glanced at where he had dropped his bow before his eyes rested on the teenage girl. She was about the same age as Natasha was when they had first met and that really didn’t help.

Clint had to resort to hand to hand combat, which by far was this teen’s specialty it seemed. Unlike Natasha, at least, this teen lacked the same focus. Clint had to wait, find her movements, but they were predictable. He found her weak point and capitalized. He backed up quickly before he bolted, picking up his bow. He didn’t have the time to think about his actions- he heard the gunshots inside the building and that was more important.

Once inside, Clint had to pause to collect himself again. There was so much carnage. In the amount of time it had taken him to get past one girl, she had done this much damage. He drew his bow back and walked in, sweeping towards the stairs just as feet were coming down. He found limited coverage and took his shots. As long as it didn’t have red hair, he had an arrow for it. And if they got too close, he switched off to his knives.

Collecting arrows while trying to run was not an easy task. He didn’t know exactly where the next threat was going to be, and he certainly hadn’t packed enough for this. He made his way up the stairs and started the sweep again. Most of the rooms were empty, not a person in sight. He was thankful the beds sat high enough he could see under them without having to get on the ground.

He got to the second to last room on the right and gave pause again. They were all young, way younger than he had expected. Maybe eight? Maybe ten. He didn’t know. Too young for this. All six of them were huddled together, and one, older than the rest, was in the front, her jaw set and her stance defensive; even then, she was likely only twelve or so.

Clint lowered the bow. “Do you speak English?” he asked. The tiny blonde in the front gave a sharp nod of her head. “Get them out of here and run as far as you can,” he instructed.

“You’ll shoot backs,” the blonde said angrily.

“Not the plan,” Clint assured her. “But you have to go now. Here-” He grabbed his last grappling arrow and fear jolted through him for a moment. It was his last means of escape from somewhere high and he was giving it away. He took aim and shot right next to the window and watched the line expand out. “Use it and climb down. Carefully.”

“Why?” the blonde asked.

“Because I’m not a dick,” Clint answered. “Take them somewhere safe. The police. They are scared.”

He turned away and ducked out quickly, closing the door. Natasha was going to kill him if she found out about that stunt. _They aren’t children anymore. They are weapons._ He could hear the nagging now. But they were young, terrified- there was no way those ones were anything more than children orphaned. Clint finished his sweep before he stopped at a window, checking out to see tiny figures below, making their way to the woods. Clint hung his head and sighed.

He shouted in surprise and pushed back from the wall when someone wrapped their legs around his middle. He brought a hand up to protect his neck and felt a knife dig into his shoulder in the small space his vest wasn’t covering.. He turned and rammed the person into the wall, feeling them go limp. He took a few steps away, his good hand coming to his shoulder and looking at the knife, his face screwing up from pain. He then looked at the tiny blonde who was crumpled on the ground. She wasn’t moving; breathing seemed fine, but she was out. He kicked her leg, nothing, touched her face, still nothing.

Clint removed the knife as carefully as he could, sucking in air and trying not to scream from pain. He tossed it away and planted the palm of his hand against the wound. _Okay Barton- this looks… not so good._ He made it out of the room and dropped his hand back, pulling out his gun. He was trying desperately to ignore the growing pain in his shoulder that was threatening to make him sick.

Clint made it down to the first level and everything was silent. He frowned and crept to the stairs that led down. He waited a moment before he headed down, keeping against the wall. More blood, more- carnage. He stopped inside the room at the end when he heard no noise and slowly sat down.

Natasha looked blankly ahead of her in a mirror, and Clint could tell things were settling in for her. Realizations, the horrors- everything she had been through coming through at this moment; and he had no real way of helping her through it. He didn’t know enough to say anything. So he waited, watched as she just let pieces fall. Unlike himself, she was quiet about it, keeping the rage, the pain, everything, just under the surface. Clint would have been yelling, shouting, demanding to be heard. That level of control to internalize it was different, it hurt in a way Clint wasn’t sure he could vocalize.

The pain was growing and something wasn’t feeling right. _Black Widow._ Probably poison then? Clint had never been poisoned before. He was feeling sick but he had thought it was from pain. He needed to leave, find medical attention. Maybe she knew an antidote if it was poison.

“Nat,” Clint said. She didn’t move. “Natasha. Nat-” He saw something, just barely, before it was gone. “Tasha!” he shouted.

She seemed to snap to it and looked at the mirror at him before she turned. “What did you _do?_”

“Got stabbed,” Clint answered, offering her his best boyish grin.

She was over to him quicker than he thought she should have been. He flinched when she touched the shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. “You got _stabbed_?” she hissed. “I told you not to die, you stupid blond!” Clint looked up at her surprised.

Her quiet rage was now thunderous as she was yelling at him. He was confused by the sudden change and watched her, not processing the words. Most of it was in English, but some came flying out of her mouth in Russian. He must not have reacted the way she wanted because she growled then kicked his boot before hauling him up to his feet.

“Sorry,” Clint muttered.

“You need a hospital. The knife could have been-”

“Think it was,” Clint said as they walked towards the stairs.

He hated the feeling of being jello- his legs barely working with him. He tried to focus his energy on walking, otherwise he knew he was in for it. She shifted her grip and it fell close to the shoulder wound; that time he couldn’t help the shout of pain, it rippling through his shoulder and chest, stumbling before he could catch himself. He licked his lip then bit down, trying to focus again.

They made it outside before he couldn’t go any further. He shoved her away lightly before he sat down, tugging at his quiver’s attachment before it finally fell off his back. He shoved it away before he laid down, closing his eyes. Of all the places to die, he never thought it would be in Russia. At least not until after he got to explore it a little. He still had places to check off his list- he hadn't been to New Zealand yet, Australia. He wanted to visit Iceland after he heard about all the nature hikes he could take- a chance to reconnect to something not so messy.

“What are you doing?” Clint asked, opening his eyes.

“Calling your bosses,” Natasha said, pulling out his phone and turning it on.

“They won’t get here that quick- hey,” Clint said, watching her disappear back inside the building. That was fine- she probably forgot something. 

He looked up and saw a few stars light up the sky and he smiled. He remembered the few times his father wasn’t home, Clint would sneak outside and look at the stars His mother was asleep usually by then anyway. He just wanted to fly- be a bird and get away from it all. He thought it must have been the coolest thing, being able to go anywhere you please. Or be an astronaut- float up there among the stars, stare down at Earth and realize how small it was. How small a lot of things were.

He felt a needle going into his shoulder and he started to cough. He glared at Natasha and felt his phone drop to his chest. He looked down at it before he looked back up. She was saying words- he had to focus again.

“Remove the GPS blocker,” she said.

“Who is on the phone?” Clint asked.

“Doesn’t matter, remove-”

Clint fumbled with the phone and looked at it before he placed it against his ear. “Hey there, Nick.”

“_Remove the blocker, Agent Barton_.” Oh, he sounded so mad.

“Don’t kill her,” Clint said, catching sight of Natasha’s hands flinch away from him. 

“_Agent Barton-_”

“I want to hear it, Fury,” Clint said. “Natasha- Nat- she’s… she’s good. She’ll make a better S.H.I.E.L.D. agent than I ever could. I remove this, you find us… don’t kill her.”

“_I am not going to say it again, Barton,_” Nick warned.

“Yeah, alright, keep your eye patch on,” Clint snarked. “Tasha- open that back panel.” Natasha hesitated before following directions. “So- there’s a little purple chip. Remove that and I will be back online for them to track.” He watched as she followed through and he took the phone back from her. “Done, you can find me.”

“_You realize how unamused I am right now, Barton?_” Nick asked.

“No, but I have a feeling you might just tell me,” Clint replied before he dropped the phone and rolled over, vomiting. He was pretty sure there was blood but he rolled back to his back. 

Natasha had the phone again. She was talking and Clint was zoning out. He looked to the side of her and there were two more needles with something in them. He wrinkled his nose and tried to move, reaching back to grab them. Natasha caught his hand and pushed it back down, her eyes focusing on him for a moment before she looked back up. She looked hands down terrified.

“This next one is going to hurt,” she said. “It’s going to sting. It has to go here,” she explained, tapping his chest.

“Oh, well, that’s going to be a fucking joy,” Clint murmured. “I’m not helping remove the vest. Seems like too much effort.”

“You sure do whine a lot for an assassin,” Natasha commented as her fingers worked on his vest.

“More of a mercenary,” Clint said.

“More of an idiot,” Natasha countered easily. She was pushing back his tactical gear. “If you die on me, I’m kicking your ass.”

“If I’m dead you can do whatever you want with my ass,” Clint shot back before he screamed. She wasn’t even lying. The amount of force it took combined with the needle, Clint was sure his vision was swimming now. His stomach rolled again and he turned to his side to vomit.

Natasha eased him back down to his back. “You are more trouble than you are worth, Agent Barton.” She picked up the last needle and injected it into his shoulder.

“Run,” he whispered. He felt her hands go to his hair and he closed his eyes.

“Sleep. You’ll feel better,” she said. He felt her hands reach down, pulling out his hearing aids. Clint immediately started to panic, trying to sit up but feeling too heavy. He felt one aid being slipped back in and felt hair brush against his face. “I’m not killing you, you stupid blond. I’m saving you.”


	18. Chapter 18

Clint knew it was medical as soon as he saw the bright lights. He turned his head away from them, trying to ease himself back out of whatever sleep he was in. If he could he would love to be asleep again. He couldn’t hear anything, and he reached up, trying to feel for his hearing aids. _Huh, not restrained. Thought for sure I would be restrained._

He opened his eyes and wanted to jump off the bed as soon as he saw Nick Fury. Clint observed him for a moment, trying to get a feel for the situation, the level of screwed he was. Nick stared back at him, his face blank. And that was a good sign. Clint knew the face of Fury when he was angry and this wasn’t it.

Nick pointed to a wall and Clint followed his finger. Good ol’ S.H.I.E.L.D. tech. Nick was talking and Clint could read it. Clint had forgotten about this technology- he only had to use it once in his career. _What in the hell were you thinking?_

Clint closed his eyes and had to think how to word it. It would be easier if it were Phil- Phil was good at translating the ramblings that came out of his mouth when Clint couldn’t put into words that he was thinking or feeling. Nick, however, didn’t have the time or patience, and Clint didn’t want to screw this up; he couldn’t afford to mess this up.

“She has connections that S.H.I.E.L.D. could use,” Clint said slowly. Clint didn’t have to look at the wall for the next word out of Fury’s mouth. All he had said was ‘and’. “And I should have told you this mission was a bust from the beginning. That I wasn’t going to be able to kill her. I… hoped maybe when I found her I would be able to change my mind but it wasn’t an option.”

Nick nodded once and held out his hearing aids. Clint snorted and looked down at his shoulder before looking back up at Nick. Nick, however, didn’t move. “Asshole,” Clint muttered. He sat up slowly, gasping when pain flooded his shoulder and ribs and he needed a moment for everything to settle. He was _not_ going to throw up on Nick, no matter how incredibly worth it it would be. He turned slowly and grabbed them with his good hand and put them in.

“You realize I should lock you up for this?” Nick asked. “It’s right there in the handbook you signed off on reading. That we _forced_ you to stay in a room for three days to read. Cameras watching you and everything. It was a direct order.”

“Sometimes those orders don’t make sense,” Clint answered. “I made a different call, Fury. She’s… not a bad person, she was dealt a bad hand. So if that’s what you want- if you want her head and now mine for disobeying direct orders, then that’s what it is. I did sign a contract. But I’m not going to pretend I am sorry for doing it because I am not.”

Nick settled back in his chair, his fingers folding. “You know why I was willing to take a chance with you, Agent Barton?” he asked. Clint shook his head. “Because you have instincts I cannot train into people. Even if you are a pain in my ass nearly twenty-four seven. You push the limits, you drive everyone crazy, and you have no regard for yourself- you get things done in a way that benefits the organization.”

Clint settled into the bed a little more, melting around it. “So… you didn’t kill her then?”

“As long as she came peacefully, she wasn’t going to be taken down,” Nick answered. “She is in solitary, going through the same trials you did, maybe a little more, before we can decide what to do with her. I won’t make promises until that time comes whether or not she’ll live. If it’s in the best interest of S.H.I.E.L.D. to still eliminate her- you need to be on board.”

“At least she’s got a chance,” Clint said. “Can I make a few requests?” he asked.

“Oh, I cannot wait to hear them,” Nick commented sarcastically.

“I want to be her S.O.,” Clint requested. “I know my rank isn’t high enough yet but-”

“Who said your rank isn’t high enough?” Nick asked. Clint rose an eyebrow. “I can make your rank whatever the hell I want, Barton. But you really think you should be the one in charge of her training?”

“I’m the only one she is going to trust,” Clint answered. “Let Coulson be my backup, be her handler too. But let me do the training aspect of things.”

“I will consider it,” Nick said.

“Can… can I see Phil?” Clint asked. “I’ve got a lot to unload on him. He’s going to love it.”

Nick actually chuckled at that and Clint smiled a little more. “Oh, you’ll see Phil. And I am fairly certain he is going to unload on you before you even get a chance to say something edgewise. Now- stay in medical. You slip out, and we are going to find inventive ways to give you an incentive to stay.”

“How long am I here for?” Clint asked.

“A week,” Nick said. Clint groaned and rolled his head around on his pillow. “More if you act like a child. They did surgery on your shoulder- we don’t know what that means for your little bow and arrow stunts in the future.”

“That right there is a good enough reason to stay,” Clint assured him. “I won’t… Barton this up, Nick.”

“You better not.”

Clint hadn’t been surprised at the harsh words than came flying out of Phil’s mouth the moment the door was closed. Clint deserved every last bit of the criticism. _You should have told someone. You should have said you were compromised. You should have-_ Clint watched Phil as he droned on and on about all the things Clint knew he was supposed to do but didn’t. Most of these were phrases he has heard before. 

_You lack self-preservation. You just jump into action without giving it a thought._ Which was a load of shit. Whether people knew it or not, Clint always gave his actions thought. Everything he did was calculated; he wouldn’t be alive still if it hadn’t been. However, sometimes the numbers didn’t look good but his choices were limited. Sometimes he picked the one he thought would lead to the best outcome; sometimes that meant getting hurt. But he always played the variables out in his head before he did anything. It was just who he was.

Then Phil went on to ask questions about Natasha. He wanted the full backstory, start to current. Clint was thankful he used the word “current” instead of finish. Clint attempted to open up about some of it, but he still felt his guards in play at the thought of trying to explain any of it.

“So… you like her because she makes you feel like a better person?” Phil asked.

“No, I did not say that,” Clint groaned. He really started to hate trying to explain exactly went through his head with Natasha. “It’s more… what could have happened to me if I was given the same deck as her. That at least I got to make my own choices the whole time; she wasn’t even given that opportunity until late in the game, after they already fucked her over. I didn’t say she makes me feel better. What she has done has nothing to do with what I have done. I’m not displacing my… wrongdoings.” Clint rubbed his face and grabbed his cup of water. “It’s complicated, Phil. I don’t know why, I don’t know when, I don’t have all the answers. I just know that I was compromised and didn’t tell anyone and it paid off.”

“This is what you are calling paid off?” Phil asked. “You are in-”

“I know,” Clint groaned. “I know you are going to say this can’t be a good pay off because I might have ruined my shoulder. I get that. But… let’s say they deem her too much of a threat and she has to be taken down. At least for the first time in her life someone was considering the options. She made a choice to come here. She’s been given opportunities she never had. That’s… it’s something. Maybe it didn’t pay off for me but it has for her. Maybe. I don’t know. Can we stop this talking thing? I’ve got a headache.”

“Nick told me you want to be her S.O.,” Phil commented.

“I’m the right one for the job,” Clint answered.

“You won’t go easy on her.”

Clint snorted. “She wouldn’t let me even if I tried.” He played with the fabric of his blanket. “She is always going to be a threat, you realize? Its just better if she is a threat working for us, and not against us.”

“I realize that,” Phil promised.

“So… when do I get to see her?” Clint asked.

Clint was shocked when he was allowed to visit Natasha alone; he was certain Fury would have demanded some guards. Clint went down to her cell and paused before he walked closer. Natasha watched him from her bed, looking more at peace than he had ever seen her.

“Natasha,” Clint greeted.

“Agent Barton,” Natasha replied and Clint could have sworn he heard something more happy behind her tone. He wasn’t sure if this was all a game now or what was happening.

“Well, you got the five star treatment,” Clint said, looking around. “I got a simple cell. You get the electro-cell. Very nice. Reputation is spotless.” Natasha rose an eyebrow and watched him before Clint sat down on the ground and looked up at her. “How are you?”

“Bored,” Natasha admitted. “I have seen your… director a handful of times since coming here. Nick Fury. They are running psychological tests, plus others- I don’t understand why I am being given an option here. Why you seem to matter in it.”

“I don’t matter in it, I’ve got nothing to do with it,” Clint answered. “As for given the option- hell Nat, you are good at what you do.”

“I could be a double agent,” Natasha pointed out.

“A double agent that just killed a whole bunch of people that were doing a whole lot of bad things,” Clint laughed. “What was it you told me once? That your morals shaikly align with S.H.I.E.L.D.s?” he asked and watched as Natasha’s face shifted, just for a moment, into a hint of a smile. “I told you I would make them change their minds about you. I put in that effort. It’s your turn now. You have choices, Natasha. I mean, they are a little limited at the moment but…”

“How is your shoulder?” she asked, changing the subject as she stood up.

Clint looked down. “Well, they did some surgery on it I guess. So I’m off work and on paper pusher duty for, like, four months or something like that. It hurts like a bitch, but I’m not taking anything for that.”

“You are on a S.H.I.E.L.D. base and you won’t take pain medication?” Natasha asked, a little surprised. “Why?”

“If something goes wrong I don’t really enjoy relying on others,” Clint answered. He flinched when she laughed and shook her head. “What?”

“It’s people you should trust,” Natasha answered.

“People like us don’t really go around and trust others very easily.” Clint shifted in his spot and looked down. “I told you, being here isn’t going to be easy. You can’t just… erase years of who you were to become someone new. You can’t and won’t trust everyone easily, no matter how long you are at it, because that’s just… it’s just not in your core anymore. You can make _changes_, but you’ll never be a different person.” He looked back up. “I think that’s the hardest part for anyone to understand. But it’s okay, y’know? You don’t _have_ to trust everyone in order to do your job. You just have to know what you are working with.”

Natasha frowned a little, seemed to consider and got as close to the wall as possible before she sat down, her hands on her knees. “Did Nick Fury direct you to come down here and try to talk me into working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“No.”

“Clint.”

“I haven’t seen Fury since the day I woke up,” Clint answered. “And even then he was more focused on why I didn’t follow orders than talking you into anything.”

“He seemed very interested in you.” Clint frowned and edged closer to the wall and leaned in a little. “He wanted to know what I knew about your time overseas. Are you keeping information from your superiors, Agent Barton?”

Clint knew she knew the answer, even without it being said. Of course he wouldn’t tell Nick his whole life story, it wasn’t necessary in Clint’s mind for him or Phil to know everything. In a way it was self-preservation- the less people that knew everything the better. He didn’t need more information in her permanent file just in case S.H.I.E.L.D. every got taken down. 

“We all have things we hide from people, I’m the same,” Clint answered. “I’m curious. We all join S.H.I.E.L.D. for a reason. If you were to join, why?”

“Why did you?” Natasha asked.

“Because _someone_ used a gun on me to knock my ass out and called S.H.I.E.L.D. to come round me up,” Clint replied with a smirk. “_Someone_ took my choice away.”

“_Someone_ was trying to get you into something better suited for your talents,” Natasha answered.

“_Someone_ has a soft spot for me,” Clint added.

“_Someone_ will stab you if you ever say that again,” Natasha replied. “You could have said no and went to jail. Why did you join?”

“As you said- my ideals align with theirs at times, it was a better option,” Clint answered, leaning back a little and stretching his back. “You?”

Natasha looked down and thought about it. “I’ve got a whole lot of red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.”

“Atonement then,” Clint sighed.

“You don’t?” Natasha asked. “You don’t regret the people you took out? The things you have done?”

“I never said I didn’t,” Clint said calmly. “I guess I view it in a different way than you. That’s all.” He looked at the clock. “They are going to come down here and grab me at any point now. I’m sure Coulson and Fury have been listening in, because they are very nosy people. But Natasha… if offered… take the contract. I promise you- you won’t regret it.”

“Guess you will be one of the first to find out, since apparently you want to be my trainer,” Natasha said, getting up and heading back for her bed.

“Guess so,” Clint smiled. He fumbled his way to his feet and headed to the stairs. “See you later, Nat.”

“Goodbye, Clint.”


	19. Chapter 19

Natasha was rambling off in Russian and Clint was admittedly too tired to pay attention to the words coming out of her mouth; he didn’t feel like translating them. His head was killing him, his back was killing him, and all he wanted to do was go to his Bed-Stuy apartment, with or without her, and sleep all this nonsense off.

He caught the words “idiot blond” come flying out of her mouth as they departed the jet and he rolled his eyes. She had been saying that for nearly the whole trip back home, when she would talk. Other times she sat next to him steaming, glaring at him occasionally.

“I don’t understand what you are so mad about- you are the one who nearly got us killed, not me,” Clint said. Admittedly, that was the wrong thing to say.

“You were about to get yourself killed!” Natasha protested angrily. She turned around and walked to get into his space and Clint ignored the challenge, edging past her without touching.

“Well hell, Nat. After eight hours of torture it’s kinda hard to focus on not getting shot,” Clint answered just as angrily now. “It was a risk and we took it. And you were the one who left me for extra time. You went off script. I was doing what I had to.”

Natasha followed him and Clint could feel her glaring holes into the back of his head. “And you know that- Clinton Francis Barton, I see what you are doing! Don’t you dare turn your hearing aids off.” Clint lowered his hands in defeat. “You took a risk that wasn’t-”

“I believe I heard this three times on the jet, Nat, I don’t need a fourth rehash,” Clint snapped, tossing his equipment bag onto a table and unloading. He stared down at the pressed penny he had made and ran his thumb over it before shoving it back into his bag. “Stop treating me like this is my first mission. I have years on you in S.H.I.E.L.D..”

“Which is becoming increasingly more shocking every mission,” Natasha commented, following suit.

“Wanna tell me whats really got you pissed?” Clint asked, gripping the fabric on his bag. “We going to talk about that yet? Because I’m getting pretty tired of being yelled at. And I am going to ignore the ‘shocking’ part because there have been dozens upon dozens of missions where I have more than pulled my weight.” He coughed then groaned, looking in his bag for tissues, anything. He felt a soft pack bounce off his head and he glared, opening the pack up to grab a tissue to blow his nose.

They had been working together for two years at this point. Strike Team Delta they were commonly called. One of the best teams in S.H.I.E.L.D. history, though Clint may be partial to saying the best. It was worth all the bullshit they went through together at the beginning because there was nothing that could stop them.

The first six months had been the hardest, with Clint on medical leave, and then on very light duty. Natasha had to work with other people, which proved more difficult than it had with Clint; at least Clint was able to fake a smile, able to look approachable, which were skills Natasha hadn’t yet developed. But slowly as Clint was able to work his way in, Natasha started shifting into something more comfortable as they worked through things together.

They bickered, sure- they both had different ideas on how missions should be ran and Clint did have a tendency to calculate risks he probably shouldn’t take. But they brought out the best in the other, trusted each other unconditionally. They worked and that was good enough for Clint.

This mission had been outside of the standard. Things had gone wrong from the beginning, then kinda righted itself, and then there was the plan of using Clint as bait. Clint didn’t care that he was used as bait, nor did he really care that she was late getting to him. He wasn’t going to linger on the fact that he came close to dying because in the end he was still alive and kicking. He spent a whole week in the hospital in Budapest recovering, and was still off work for another two weeks, and while the down time was going to suck, he was thankful he got to stick around to have to deal with it.

What Clint did care about what how piss Natasha was at the situation, and how she was taking it out on him. As far as Clint was concerned, he hadn’t done anything wrong minus getting shot in the abdomen, but even then he had warned Natasha that he wasn’t feeling okay when she finally retrieved him. There was only so much Clint could take before his head space was taken up on something other than focusing on where people were hidden. If anyone should be mad, it should have been him; however, Clint knew being angry about it a week later wasn’t worth it.

“You are such an asshole,” Natasha said too quietly. 

Clint looked over, watched as her eyes were starting to fill with tears. Now his mind was racing with what he could have possibly done to make her this upset. He had only seen Natasha cry once before; it took a lot to rattle her. Clint took a step forward and she backed up.

“No.”

“I can’t fix whatever is happening here unless you tell me whats going on,” Clint said. “Look- I’m asking Coulson to let me debrief tomorrow. We already did our full statement in Budapest, so his debrief is just going to be nosy. Come with me.”

“No.”

Clint took a deep breath in order to keep himself calm. “Alright, fine. Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Clint only waited a minute before leaving the room, going to change into civilian clothing. Whatever Natasha was going through, thinking, she wasn’t going to share. If she wanted him, she knew where he was going to be for two weeks. He shoved his feet into something other than boots and grabbed a duffle bag, tossing his quiver and bow inside before heading out.

It took him two hours to get home. He stopped for food and coffee, got stopped by a few of his neighbors and settled in. The feeling of regret started to seep in; he should have stayed, forced her to talk about it. He knew the mission had been rough and a lot had happened they hadn’t accounted for, but she had been handling it well until they got back on board his jet to come home. They both hated talking but sometimes it was better that way- get everything out and in the open so they knew where they stood. 

Clint turned the television on mute and turned on the closed captions before grabbing the two blankets on the back of the couch and pulling them on. He tossed his hearing aids onto the table and glared at the television, sniffling again and already dreading tomorrow. This was their first real fight where they hadn’t immediately talked about whatever it was making the other agitated. It was unsettling; it made Clint feel more anxious as time passed. _You are a real asshole._ He just wanted to know what he had done to make her say that because he had been nothing but positive from the moment he woke up in the hospital. Even on the jet he let her vent, call him every name under the sun in whatever language she wanted, and he took it. He didn’t know what else he could do at this point. If she wasn’t going to talk, he wasn’t going to force her.

Closing his eyes, Clint knew he had to compartmentalize. He needed sleep and then clean tomorrow. Whatever was happening between them needed to wait until they both had time to cool off. Clint could give her all the time she needed.

Clint felt a hand on his cheek before it removed itself and settled on his forehead. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blanket over his face. _I’m so damn cold._ It was the middle of summer- there was no reason for this. The hand moved to shake his arm lightly and he wanted nothing more than to swat it away. 

Another firm shake and Clint opened his eyes, glancing up at Natasha. _Concerned-what is she concerned about?_ She tilted her head towards the bedroom and Clint shook his head and tucked himself into a tighter ball. The room had a weird tilt about it and he felt stuffy, clouded. _Miserable._

_Medicine._ Clint watched her sign it twice before he shook his head again. She dramatically huffed out air, her shoulders slumping. _Fever. Bed._ He hated when she only signed one word sentences.

“I’m comfortable, leave me alone,” he groaned. It was a minute after he closed his eyes that he felt a hearing aid being slipped over and into his ear. “Oh, I am going to kill you,” he moaned.

“You are burning up. Is it an infection?” Natasha asked. “Just let me check the stitches.”

“You are being paranoid,” Clint muttered before he sat up and started to cough. “Ugh, dying. It’s the worst. It’s a _cold_, Nat. I caught a damn cold.” She was already pulling away the blankets and he shivered. “Nat… Nat… ow, fuck, Tasha!” he shouted when she pulled back the tape to get under the gauze. “... ow.”

“Not infected,” she said decisively.

“Yeah I already told-” Clint began to snark before he caught sight of her eyes. She was still upset, her eyes lingering on the other three stitches on his waist, her fingers against his hip. It finally clicked. “Tasha- none of this was your fault,” he said slowly. “The mission went haywire from the get go and we scrambled for the win.” He took her hand and pulled it up to his chest. “I’m still alive. I’m fine.”

“I shouldn’t have asked that of you,” Natasha answered softly almost to the point he hadn’t picked up on it. “I could have… I almost lost you.” She reached up and rubbed her face, hiding her eyes.

Clint cleared his throat before he settled his feet on the ground and stood. Natasha was up and waiting in case he fell. “Can we go to bed?” he asked. “Sleep this off?”

Natasha nodded and they both shuffled down to the bedroom. Clint changed into shorts to sleep in while Natasha stole his clothes. It used to annoy him, she had her own clothes here so why she wanted his he had no idea. Now it was oddly comforting to watch her walk around in an old tee of his and shorts too large that she had to tuck around her waist a few times to make them work. Clint laid down first and went to taking the solo hearing aid out when her hand covered his.

“You remember what you said before you blacked out?” Natasha asked hesitantly.

Clint wrinkled his nose. “I am guessing you want me to be honest here,” he said slowly. “So… no. I remember us being pinned down after the rescue, I remember trying out the new arrowhead, which is a little much, and I remember jumping into the river. Then waking up in the hospital.” He turned his hand over and held hers. “What?” Natasha shook her head a little. “Tasha, come on! It’s making you upset. Out with it.”

“You said… I love you,” she answered, sitting back and away.

Clint scrunched his nose and bit his lip. “Okay… so I said I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.” Natasha looked away and sat up against the wall. Clint hesitated a moment before he sat up, crossing his legs and leaned over, his elbows on his knees. “Love is… love is for children. We are beyond that and- do you know what people say about us?”

Of course Clint knew what the rumors on the streets were, and more often than not he was amused by it. There were still people that didn’t trust Natasha, which was fair in Clint’s opinion; some thought she was still a spy for some terrorist organization, somehow winning over Clint as a means to stay within the company, as if Clint had that much pull. And on more than one occasion Clint had heard about certain agents taking bets on just how serious their relationship was to the other, which usually came in various opinions. His favorite was that they were married- as if either of them could stomach the idea of being full blown committed to the other in that sense. And while Clint didn’t have a word for what they were, he wasn’t willing to share it anyway.

“I would make a shit spy if I didn’t know,” Clint answered. “But it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“You tell me,” Natasha said carefully.

Clint groaned and sat up, pressing his shoulder against hers while her head drifted over to settle against him. “Whatever this is, it works for us, Nat. We don’t need to label this. If someday you want to label it, then we’ll talk about it then. But until then, I’m kinda really okay just being us, the exact way we are.” He turned his head and pressed his lips against her head, closing his eyes.

“Are we making a mistake?” Natasha asked. “Being this close? People can weaponize this. And as you said two years ago- no matter how much time passes, we still are who we are. And this level of trust…”

Clint shifted so he could lay down, putting his head in her lap and letting his feet dangle off the bed. “Does it feel like a mistake to you?” Natasha’s left hand fell onto his chest while the other started threading through his hair. It took her a moment before she shook her head. “What I said two years ago stands. We can’t change who we are at our core. But Tasha- I don’t think either of us would be able to pull that trigger if we were instructed to. Not now.”

“It cannot be that simple,” Natasha sighed.

“Nothing ever is, but let’s not complicate it anymore than we have to,” Clint said with a smirk. “Since when were you the self-conscious one in this relationship?”

Natasha tugged his hair a little hard and Clint faked a whimper, which only made her smile. “We all have our days. Let me have mine.”

“Whatever you want,” Clint answered. “As long as it involves going back to sleep.” She swatted his arm and he laughed. “Come on! You are killing me here! ‘m sick! Take care of me.”

“Never in your life, Barton,” Natasha said, nudging his head to get off her lap. “In fact, if you get me sick, there will be hell to pay.”

“Mhhh, I’ll pretend not to like it,” Clint answered as he sat up. He felt her fingertips on his back and he leaned into it a little. “Are we good then?”

“We are good,” Natasha replied. “Even if you are a stupid blond who doesn’t know what’s good for him.”

“I dunno, Nat. I think I kinda do.”


	20. Chapter 20

“Stop going easy on me.” Clint pinned Natasha down and smiled, perhaps a little too cockily because Natasha glared. “Since when do we go easy on each other?” he asked. She tried to flip them but Clint buckled down. “Answer the question, Romanova.”

“Since you decided to get your ass handed to you in Budapest,” Natasha remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Clint laughed and kissed the tip of her nose before getting up. “Always back to Budapest with you. Last I checked _I_ was the responsible one there, following through orders that I allowed you to give. You were the one who left me in their very capable hands for an extra three hours. And that was two years ago.”

“_You_ are trained to handle a little more pressure,” Natasha said, getting to her feet. “And in two years I haven’t forgotten. Strange how that happens.”

“Oh, right, because my lungs enjoy water oh so much,” Clint replied. “Waterboarding, Tasha. It sucked.”

“Oh, that was the worst part? Not the part where you got shot and were dying?” Natasha asked, circling.

Clint probably looked too happy when thinking about that part. “So, that part sucked. But! We got to test out the new exploding arrow and it worked so I mean…”

Sparring with Natasha was easy; not in the sense that physically she could clean the floor with him, but because they fell into a natural rhythm. They knew just how much the other could take before it became too much. But today, Natasha was distracted, taking it too easy on Clint, which meant she wanted to talk about something.

“We should do it.”

“Do what?” Clint asked, blocking a blow to his side.

“What everyone thinks we are doing,” Natasha answered. Clint froze then yelped when Natasha kicked him on the thigh. “You stopped.”

“Time out,” Clint called. He rubbed his thigh. “You… think we should get _married_ because everyone thinks that is what is going on with us?”

“Seems like a good fit,” Natasha rationalized. “We are always together, rely on only each other.”

“Okay but, like, dogs rely on humans and I’m not going to marry a dog.”

Natasha’s jaw dropped. “Did you just compare me to a dog?”

“No, no, shut up,” Clint said quickly. “Nat, we aren’t even… I mean, we never-”

Natasha put her hands on her hips. “Clinton Francis Barton, in the last four years, who have you slept with? Tally them.” Clint pulled a face and crossed his arms. He narrowed his eyes when she dropped her arms and sultered forward. _Oh fuck me._ “Who gets all the late nights?” she asked, her hands gripping his hips. _Not going to be a fair fight now._ “And the tie-”

“Ugh, the tie,” Clint agreed. “Natasha Romanoff- you trying to seduce me in plain sight?” he asked.

“Is it working, Agent Barton?” she whispered, her fingers pushing up his shirt just a little. “Answer the questions, Barton.”

“Slept with… you. Late nights with you. The tie is definitely you,” Clint said, trying not to fidget as her hands turned and slipped under the waistband of his shorts. “There is literally no one in the world I would willingly let tie me up.”

“Budapest,” she whispered, her lips pressed against his neck.

“Rephrase- no one in the world I would willingly let tie me up when not on a mission, and pointing out Budapest is really not fair,” Clint said with a huff. He squirmed when her fingers inched lower. “What the hell are you doing?” They started to circle back towards his flanks before he caught her wrists. “Ooooh, no you don’t. You fucking tease.”

Natasha’s head shot up and Clint walked her back. “Just let me see it.”

“Definitely not now, Nat,” Clint laughed. “You tried to use us against me. That’s a penalty.”

“Where the hell is our next mission?” Natasha asked. “Why do you get to know and I don’t?”

“Because I am working out the details that don’t include me getting waterboarded… again,” Clint replied, too amused to sound angry. He pressed her up against the wall before he glanced towards the door. “We have an audience, Tasha. How would you like to proceed?”

“Who?”

“Fury.”

“He’ll see through us if we fake it,” Natasha whispered. “Nick is too good.” Clint let go of her wrists and she held his face, pulling it close. Clint obediently pressed his forehead against hers. “We… might need to continue that later though.”

“I won’t say no,” Clint hinted before the door opened. He took a step back and leaned away from Natasha. “Fury. Coulson,” he greeted.

“Hope we aren’t intruding in a _public space_,” Nick said.

“Four’s kind of a crowd,” Clint admitted, earning him a nudge from Natasha. He glanced her way and winked.

“I need to pull you two apart for the next week,” Nick said. “Your vacation is cancelled.”

“You were tricking me into a vacation?” Natasha accused.

“Well, I mean, us into a vacation. And because Phil was making me take one, so you had to take one,” Clint admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“And now it is cancelled,” Nick said firmly. “I need to send you both on solos.”

“Solos?” Natasha asked. She looked at Clint and he shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’ll debrief you fully, Agent Romanoff,” Phil said. “Clint, you are going to Nick.”

“Sounds magical,” Clint said before handing a piece of paper to Natasha. “It was going to be New Zealand. We haven’t been there yet. I needed a penny pressed from there but apparently Fury here has other ideas.”

“At least you will like your mission, Romanoff. Clint gets to watch scientists work while protecting them,” Fury said, turning to leave.

“Awww, babysitting, no!” Clint whined, sulking as he followed. “Don’t get into too much fun without me, Tasha!”

“Don’t play with science things,” Natasha answered in kind.

“So- what do I get to watch scientists do?” Clint asked Nick as they walked down the hall.

“Study a glowing blue cube.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


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